birthday massacre
by Skitts
Summary: I wore my red dress to the birthday massacre. :au, multichap, roxine:
1. i wore my white dress

**chapter one  
**_i wore my white dress_

* * *

"Aren't you going to come too?" she had teased him with a small smile spread across her pretty pink lips freshly touched up with fresh layers of candyfloss lip gloss. It was obvious how hard she'd tried for the party (only 'cause it's 'cause it's Kairi's birthday, Roxas!) and the sight of her with her hair up and face shining was only a little off-putting. The only thing that reminded Roxas that it was Naminé, best friend Naminé who sat in the corner all through Kindergarten with a sketchbook and chipped wax-crayons, was that small smile and white dress.

She always wore white, and as a result was easy to pick out in a large crowd. Of that he could always be sure of, so even with the large blue eyes staring out from under curtains of make-up he knew it was her. It was a comfort, proof that she hadn't completely morphed into another being overnight.

"Hmn… Lemme think…" Roxas paused, leaning against the wrought-iron railings that ran around Kairi's house with one thumb hooked under his chin as if he were deep in thought. Ha.

Naminé shoved him in the side playfully with a swift air of indignation – she knew that look, that 'I'm-going-to-pretend-I-might-answer-with-anything-other-than-no' pose. The only time he ever actually concentrated was when he was factoring out his integers in Algebra under the watchful gaze of Mrs. Yunalesca. Much of the other time the only things on his mind were eating, sleeping and skateboarding.

"Why won't you go-oo-oo?" she pleaded as if her very life depended on it, stretching her words in that typically cute little kiddie way she'd done ever since the first time she met Roxas in the park.

Roxas, being a brat and a **stubborn** brat at that, hadn't budged on the matter and had stuck by her side ever since. Apart from now, of course, for reasons he was about to list.

"Well, one thing is I don't like Kairi. She's _your_ friend. Plus I'm pretty sure Riku doesn't like me either. Sora's my own twin and going to a party with _him_ there constantly whispering over my shoulder saying stuff like 'by the way, Rikku says you're to tidy your room when you get back' or 'Rikku says you're _dead_ if you get another F in Algebra' would be _way_ uncool. And speaking of Algebra, I really need to get that homework done and work on the lousy integers."

Yes, he'd been stubborn then and he was stubborn now.

Naminé sighed as the reasons washed over her, holding up her hands as if it would protect her from the barrage of words. He would not be swayed on the matter.

"Oh _fine_, okay, I get it. Geesh, Mr. Social Reject." But she tacked another one of her smiles onto the end of it, all of the same. Naminé never meant her insults, and even if she did they were always very feeble ones – if Seifer started on her (mostly, Roxas suspected, because he'd asked her out and she'd said no, thus putting a huge dent in his pride) Roxas always had to step in and protect her.

That would probably be why nobody really liked Roxas. If anybody dared to be his friend (not that he'd want them to, Mr. Social Reject that he was and appeared to be) Seifer would decapitate them. Really, behind that ludicrous ensemble and 'lamer' jab, he was pretty intimidating. Not you'd have thought it from the stupid outfit.

"Kay. Bye, Roxas," she said, spinning around and walking up the stone steps that lead to the door of Kairi's house, narrowing her eyes slightly at a lone spider scuttling along the bricks and mortar.

And thaat was the last Roxas saw of her, a big flurry of brilliant bright-white dress as she was ushered indoors by Kairi's ever-twinkly chime-like laugh, cliché in every sense of the word because she was a 'good little girl'.

Roxas thought idly, as he mooched down the monochrome black-and-white street to an exciting evening of multiplying fractions out of brackets, that he'd never gotten to say goodbye back.

_Goodbye, Naminé_.

* * *

**a.n: **a random halloween-esque fic i decided to write. i tried to give it a different style to this piece and make it all weird-ish and disturbing. all chapters will be pretty short, not how long the whole story will be, not sure when it will be updated, only got a vague plot idea. just a random something i wanted to try out. based loosely on the song happy birthday by the birthday massacre.


	2. seems like the ticking hands

**chapter two  
**_seems like the ticking hands are taking their time_

_

* * *

_

Roxas was always one to have weird dreams. Ever since he was ooh, about this tall, every time that golden-blonde head of his hit the pillow his mind was instantly overrun by nightmare visions laced with shrill screaming and splattered with copper blood.

It just wasn't _normal_ for little boys of six or so to have such vicious fantasies and twisted wonderlands inside their heads, or so his mother said, but truth be told it didn't bother him and had never bothered him in the slightest.

Every time he watched horror films with Naminé every Halloween night (as had been their custom ever since they started middle school – dressing up and begging for candy was so childish, plus Naminé was the sort of girl who had to half-starve herself to keep thin unlike the handful of 'lucky bitches' in their year who ate all the time and never gained a pound) he was always the one to sit wide-eyed and glued to the screen whilst Naminé hid behind her pillow asking if the scary parts were over yet.

"For God's sakes, Nam, we rented the _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_. It's meant to be scary – s'the whole point," he'd reply year in year out, the only difference in the sentence being the name of the film, copy and pasted over last year's choice 'scream-yourself-stupid' choice horror show.

"Still doesn't mean I _like_ it," she'd pout back, hugging her pillow so tightly it was danger of bursting. "And stop chewing so loudly."

"I thought you didn't want to watch or hear it," Roxas would reply, crunching popcorn kernels in a rather obnoxious manner that would make Naminé sigh (most girls did that, especially Rikku when Roxas found the electricity bills in the salad spinner) and chuck her cushion at him.

But Roxas always had the last laugh – without anything between her blue eyes and the flashing screen she'd catch an unwanted glimpse of a severed head or chopped-up limb and scream, hiding her face in her hands.

Blood and guts and gore had never frightened Roxas (he could comfortably eat junk food smothered in salt whilst marvelling at a sea of mutilated corpses being stuck through with knives) and eventually he just stopped caring about the nightmares.

They were commonplace and seemed to frighten Rikku a lot more than they did him (even more so than the prospect of paying the electricity bills, it seemed) so he kept quiet.

No point worrying her when she already had mundane adult things to fret about like munny, or lack of thereof.

But this night's foray into his all-too-familiar dreamland struck a nerve somewhere deep inside, the nerve that said '**no, that's no right**', and as the dream cum nightmare continued (blonde hair and sweet smiles and white-red dresses and lifeless bodies) the message grew louder and more urgent and-

_Gasp_.

He sat up, kicking off his warm duvet that bundled up his arms and legs, wiping his sweaty, throbbing brow with fevered fingers as he inhaled and exhaled shakily.

Something wasn't right.

He replayed the dream again, slightly blurred at the edges and sepia toned as it ran through the movements like clockwork, jamming occasionally on particularly haunting images that made him shudder all the way up and down his spine.

Normally those dreams were about nameless, faceless people. When it came to them he could deal with it – they were nothing to do with him, separate entities that existed only his head. He referred to them only as 'meat' and never flinched when they were butchered and mangled and broken like dolls. That was all it was to him. Meat. Nothing more.

But he'd never had a dream about Naminé.

He choked, feeling light-headed and nauseous as images poured through his head like flour in a sieve – blonde hair and blue eyes and butcher knives with pale skin flecked with copper-red rust and fingers limp, lifeless, cold body on the floor, **dead**.

Bile rose up his throat and his eyes stung, head throbbing unpleasantly as sickness washed over him like a tidal wave.

He staggered to his feet and turned around to look a the clock, flashing green numbers embedding themselves into his corneas – two thirty-five in the morning.

Not quite knowing what he was doing, as if still in a dream, his eyes circled his room, lingering on his clothes and then the door.

_What if Naminé…?_

It was crazy, he knew it was, but he couldn't help himself.

_I've got to find her. _

_

* * *

_

_**a.n: **so teh black plot thickens. stick around for more updateness :3_


	3. i think it happened at night time

**chapter three  
**_i think it happened at night time

* * *

_

When Roxas was little he always loved to play in the park, the very picture of innocence with large blue eyes and windswept blonde hair. Cold burnt into warm summer-scorched fingers wrapped around the cold iron of swing set chains kicking trainer'd feet up higher and higher ("_I bet I can beat you-ouuu, Naminé!"_).

Their mothers, boring adult people that they were, dressed up in that pointless way reserved only for thirty-something year-old women who still tried to look young by painstakingly painting lines and dashes and streaks and dots of make-up upon every single clean surface to hide age and death that started creeping on their faces like decaying flowers.

Little Roxas was sure he'd never understand old people – why bother dressing up to impress when the make-up would run and the dye would wash out? It was the world of women, far away from the small strawberry bubblegum cloud that surrounded Roxas and Naminé.

The two friends would spend countless hours running around playing tag or feeding the ducks or dangling off the climbing frames and it was good fun and games until somebody fell over and skimmed a knee or slipped on the mud and fell head-first into the pond or twisted an arm and cried out in pain.

Of course, such minor maladies could always be fixed with an ice-cream, and oftentimes at the end of every day, sun setting over the metal silhouettes of swing sets and see-saws, two very grubby, grimy children with skimmed knees and windswept hair and flushed faces could be seen wandering along hand-in-hand with melting ice-cream running down their arms.

"I love you, Roxas," Naminé would say half-heartedly, slurping vanillary goo off her fingers.

"I love you too, Nam," Roxas would reply with a smirk curdling on his sticky lips. Girls were so _weird_, even blonde-haired blue-eyed ones who'd been his bestest best friend ever since forever.

As they grew up (but never apart, for everything was Roxas-and-Naminé to them. Their world held no _meaning_ whenever that bond was broken) Naminé shyed away from physical games more and more, and would maybe sit on the sidelines reading a book while Riku and Wakka and Tidus and Sora and Roxas played Blitzball, or while away lonely hours making friendship bracelets from the strands of grass curling at her sandal'd feet.

But now…

Now, with shadows flitting across the grass and lethal starlight slicing lines of moonbeam of cold metal and swing sets creaking in the wind, flecked with rust and age and graffiti (apparently Larxene was a whore. He'd be sure to tell the bitch-blonde later. Or maybe _not_, come to think of it) the park seemed a tad sinister. Almost like a bad nightmare (the sort where you woke stiff as a board with sweaty palms, screaming), where everything blurs and tilts around sharp corners and things come into focus and fade away all ever so quickly it gives you a headache.

Blue eyes widening with trembling spidery black lashes, stilted breathing gulping down nausea, brain ticking like a clock as it ran through scenario after scenario, fingers clenching and running with sweat despite the cold that tugged at hair and clothes and – **creakkkk**.

Roxas' pounding heart leapt into his mouth as his own personal horrorshow panned out and he looked around – oh thank god, just the swing. Not one of those mad rapist-cum-murderers with outlandishly-painted scythes that people claimed roamed parks at midnight (but come on, being reasonable – who carried a _scythe? _Wouldn't it just be a tad conspicuous, perhaps? Almost as stupid as that time six-year old Sora, all brown hair and blue eyes and chubby cheeks old Gramma Maleficent loved to pinch, claimed he was fighting the forces of evil with the front door keys until he lost them under the couch).

Every step he took was accompanied by its own personal soundtrack – the crescendo of wind against his ears and the crunching of twigs underfoot and the creak creak creak of the swing set and the pound pound pound of his heart.

Tentatively he licked his sore lips and looked around, wondering if he was crazy. Maybe he was. Maybe it would be easier just to say it was foolish and leave because what if something really had happened to…

"Naminé?"

* * *

**a.n: **heheh. was listenin' 306 by emilie autumn when writing this, not the birthday massacre. that song makes me feel like i've just died –shudders-


	4. it turns your words to plastic

**chapter four  
**_it turns your words to plastic_

_

* * *

_

When the girl turned around Roxas' first thoughts were not, as one may expect, disgust. He barely even batted an eyelid.

Like every true horror movie fan Roxas knew there was always build-up, tension and suspense, and hadn't every single one of those drifted around after him as he searched the park?

He _knew_ something was afoot the moment he woke up, the moment he felt it necessary to put his shoes on venture outside, the moment he saw the girl on the park-bench. That was when it really hit home that things were not all as they seemed.

Why would Naminé – hell, why would _anything_ that wore a dress as short as hers – be outside at that time, especially when the park was rumoured to house maniacs and perverts and paedophiles and the like?

Coupled with the fact Naminé was actually meant to be A) at a party, or B) asleep, it made the whole thing all the more suspicious.

So Roxas was not particularly surprised when the girl turned and he noticed – it was sort of like a sixth sense, really, a side-effect of watching horror films. Eventually your brain learns to skim past all the blood and gore and immediately latches onto the important plot points – that the girl was dead.

And that was _it_.

There was no "oh my God! Should I call an ambulance? What should I do?!" with Roxas. He just took it in his stride as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

Tears would come later when the whole thing had been fully processed, but as of now he just…

Didn't care.

And he _knew_ that she must be dead. Undoubtedly dead.

Nobody, least of all a frail young girl, would have been able to survive with those painstakingly neat gashes and knife-marks in criss-crossing spider patterns along far too pale arms and legs, one even spreading across her face from the bottom of her eye, across her nose and down to the chin.

She'd have bled to death.

She already had.

The skin was raised around the marks as the land did in an earthquake, crimson lines trickled steadily from her eye and – oh _my_ – Roxas stood corrected. There _was_ no eye anymore.

The baby-blue had been popped out the socket, maybe by invading fingertips prying where they were not needed with far too much pressure. The gaping back hole, coupled with the one remaining baby blue, was frightful, yes, but Roxas had seen it countless times before.

The skin that had been stripped from her left arm and left to hang down in tatters did nothing to make the contents of Roxas' stomach empty to the floor. The exposed muscle and splintered bones protruding out at every angle imaginable the boy only noticed on a quick cursory glace. Her pronounced lack of fingers on her right hand (more of a bloody stump where the pesky appendages had been severed clean off) seemed only natural.

He'd seen worse.

No, the one thing he noticed straight away was how pretty she still looked – yes, despite her empty eye socket and the marks across her face, she still looked beautiful.

Maybe only to Roxas (he doubted others would be able to witness her new appearance without having nightmares for weeks) but she was still, in his mind, pretty.

Very pretty.

The second thing he noticed was that her blonde hair, dyed red at certain parts and awfully messy as it flipped over one her shoulders, was wet. In fact, all of her was wet – crimson water dyed with blood trickled down from her bruised lips, empty eye, wrecked arms, down her dress…

Her dress.

The third thing he couldn't help but notice, and perhaps the most disturbing of them all.

It was bright red.

"Naminé?"

"Hmph. You're no fun, _Roxas_," the girl snorted lightly, a twisted smile playing about her bashed-in face. "I thought for sure you'd be disturbed over _this_ but oh no – stoic and uncaring as usual. Like with the horror films, you know? They were damned scary but you'd just sit there asking me to pass you the coke. Hmph." And here the girl stuck out her tongue (Roxas not really surprised to find it was a bloody lump of veins, many of which had burst. She was also missing several teeth).

"Eh… Nami? What's wrong?"

"Hmn… Well, lesse. I'm missing an eye, my face has been mauled, my arm has been pulled open, I don't have anymore fingers, I think my ribs are broken, my dress has been _ripped_, I'm missing several teeth and my tongue has been ripped apart. Pick any one you want. They're all pretty good."

"But Naminé, who _did_ that to you? Somebody at the party?" asked Roxas, never one to beat around the bush.

"Eh… You could say that, I suppose," the girl mumbled in response, seeming more content to talk about her vast multitude of injuries like a child in the playground showing off scars acquired after a game tag than who actually inflicted them upon her. Her eyes – eye, Roxas mentally corrected himself – seemed to grow wider, mouth twisting into her thinking position as she placed her remaining hand under her chin.

"So when _who_ did it? You're… You're not trying to protect them are you? Anybody who did that deserves to be bea-"

"Look Roxas," Naminé cut in hastily, "I don't want to tell you. I'm sorry, but if I did… Well… I don't want to pin any more deaths down to _me_, right? I'm afraid you're going to have to find out for yourself."

Roxas sighed.

"Hey, I know life sucks. I'm living… Well, I'm proof of that. Come on, smile!"

"If you find all this amusing you're a very morbid person."

"If you don't find this in the least bit disturbing then _you're_ a very morbid person," Naminé beamed, her injuries seeming to pale slightly at the beatific look on her face. "I think you need to go back to bed, Roxie. Everything'll seem better in the morning!"

"Why are you so cheerful about this?"

"Eh. I fail to conform to narrow-minded stereotyping. And inflicting self-harm'd be pretty stupid considering I won't be able to feel anything, eh? And I'm not sure if there's an inch of my body that hasn't been broken, bent, burnt, stuck through with a knife, drowned in a pond or thrown down the stairs. I don't think my input would make much difference."

Roxas couldn't help but smile, ever so slightly.

She was still the same old Naminé.

* * *

**a.n: think whatever you want about nami's 'ghost'. i thought it was fun writing her as happy, though :3 it was also fun writing about roxas not really caring, because in most fics like this its all "OMG NUUUUU". it amused me slightly how little either of them actually cared – but the emoness will come soon. as long as some more horror. i promise ;3 and finding out who the killer/killers was/were ;3 **

**investigation starts next chapter. or perhaps the next one after that x3**

**skitts xx**


	5. until the morning comes

**chapter five  
**_until the morning comes_

_

* * *

_

"Hello, Naminé," Kairi greeted chirpirly, head cocked to one side like a cute little bird begging for crumbs. "What, no Roxas?"

"No… He said he didn't want to come…" Naminé muttered in a melancholy voice, fiddling with her bony white fingers. They were freakin' _cold _despite the fact that she'd dug them deep down into the pockets of her coat.

"Ah. Roxie's just bein' thick-headed. He's like that when it comes to me," Sora told the girl, the warm playfulness of his voice and his hearty 'welcome to the party' hug being just enough to thaw out Naminé's freezing body and coax a smile to form upon her delicate, light blue lips.

"Do you guys fight all the time or something?" asked Naminé. "I've never had any brothers or sisters…"

"Heh. Lucky you. Axel'n'Sally are right _weirdoes_," grinned Kairi with an expressive roll of her eyeliner'd eyes. "They're always listening to Marilyn Manson and tryin' to dissect and sacrifice members of the cheerleading squad, one by one… I swear Sally keeps a razorblade in her teddy bear."

"It was a _switchblade, _Kairi! Get it right!" Sally, Kairi's older sister by about three years, shouted from her dark abode of black paint and emo-ish poetry and various posters of Slipknot and Korn and Marilyn Manson.

Naminé's eyes widened, looking a tad shocked at this revelation.

"Eh, Sally's just teasin' ya, Nami," Sora grinned, looking very much at home in Kairi's ramshackle house of mess here, mess there and mess absolutely everywhere. "No, I swear me'n Roxas get along even _worse _than Kairi and the goths do. I don't think he likes me. Every time he sees me at school he walks off in the opposite direction, have you noticed?"

"Hmn… Bit…" she muttered, not wanting to be mean to her best friend. _It's wrong to talk about people behind their backs, Naminé,_ she mentally scolded herself.

But still, how could one help but _not_ notice the way Roxas dragged her along the corridors of the school, fingernails digging into her skin so tightly it left bluey-blacky bruises, merely to get away from his brother who, to all Naminé's knowledge, was a perfectly nice person?

It seemed a bit sad to Naminé how two brothers could dislike each other so much.

Sad, and _weird_.

Even weirder than Sally and Axel, and that was pretty damn weird.

"Oi, Sora! Don't tease Roxie-kins-"

"He'd break your leg for calling him that."

"-in front of Nami! He's her _friend_!" Kairi cried, hands on her hips.

"But Kai-Kai, I was jus' telling the _truth_."

"I don't tell Larxene and all those other weirdoes that Axel'n'Sally seem to hang around with about stuff they've done."

"Yeah, but everybody _knows _those two are nuts anyway," Sora reminded Kairi, lightly tapping her crimson cranium. "And Larxene and that lot are probably even _worse_, come to think of it. Wasn't Larxene the one who tried to castrate Squall Leonheart when he asked her if he could have an M&M?"

"It was a skittle actually, Silly Sora," Kairi giggled. "Anyways, c'mon Nami! I'm sure you don't want to hear about all the blood an' guts an' stuff that followed after the Great Skittle Snatching. Not that the whole school doesn't know by know already, of course."

"Of course! Selphie told me about it, but _she _said she tried to decapitate him over a starburst. And no, I'm pretty OK with blood and guts – Roxas makes me watch horror films all the time. It's sort of our tradition," Naminé said matter-of-factly.

"Great! We're going to be watching some horror films here, as a matter o' fact. Axel picked them out for me and, well, you know Axel. And even if you _don't _you've probably heard of at least one thing he's done."

Oh yeah, Naminé had heard many, _many_-a rumour about '**that** Axel Panettiere' and 'OMG did you hear he tried to set the caretaker on fire? Fat Pete was in the hospital for third degree burns!'. Of course, many of the rumours turned out to be false (the aptly named 'Fat Pete' had _actually _dropped some noxious chemicals on him whilst cleaning up the Science lab and he'd burnt most of his skin off. Clumsy caretakers).

Lots of students, teachers and the occasional hobo also took it upon themselves to compare the school photos of the Panettiere family, from Sally and Axel's Marilyn Manson inspired 'I woke up and died today' look to Kairi's neat, sweet 'I love you and the world with all my itty-bitty heart!' appearance. Oftentimes they felt the need to call Kairi a delicate flower growing up gracefully amidst a bed of weeds.

Others just called the Panettiere family highly dysfunctional and left it at that.

"No horror film could possibly freak me out now, not after watching all of Roxas' favourite films," Naminé smiled.

"Heh, bet'cha watched 'em all from behind a pillow!" Sora snickered.

"Better behind a pillow than behind the sofa, which where I seem to remember _you _whilst me'n Sally n' Axel watched Saw."

"But you grew up with _freaks_! You're used to watching their _freak _films!"

"Sora, you've spent nearly all your _life _at my house with Axel and Sally. They've even started to call you their honorary brother! C'mon, just admit it – you're a scaredy-cat!"

"Hey! Whassup, guys? How are ya, Kairi?" greeted a loud, obnoxious-ish voice from the threshold of the front door.

Naminé spun around one hundred and eighty degrees to see the smirking snigger of none other than Seifer, Mr. Snigger-smirk himself! And of course, flanking him on either side were Fuu and Raii, his lowly subordinates.

"Oh em gee! Hi guys!" squealed Kairi, rushing forth to de-shell them of their coats and give them quick assorted hugs and greetings. "Naminé, if you'd mind going to the living room? I think Axel's there with Riku. They're busy trying to set up the DVD player but heh – you know boys and technology! I think they might need the gentle guiding hand of a woman, ya know?"

"Can do," beamed Naminé, moving off down the corridor to the living room...

And then the walls started to melt around her into a mass of colours like looking through a kaleidoscope, the infuriated shouts and occasional curses from the boys in the living room dulling into a name being repeated over and over.

"_Roxas_?"

Na-

"_Roxas…?_"

-Mi-

"_R-o-x-a-s…?"_

-Né?

"**Roxas?**"

_Na-mi-né?_

"Oh my God Roxas, please! Please wake up! I… Oh God… It's… It's _horrible_!"

* * *

**a.n: gasp.**


	6. the truth is such a bore

**chapter six  
**_the truth is such a bore_

_

* * *

_

The scene one would normally expect to find on a perfectly average weekday at 12, Thalassa Shell Drive (a name that would constantly make Roxas roll his eyes around like billiard balls at the sheer 'gayness' of it all) would not be tranquil.

It would not be peaceful, it would not be calm, it would not be serene, it would be not be soothing and it would not be any other word pulled out of a thesaurus that meant near-enough the same thing as 'tranquil', 'peaceful', 'calm', 'serene' or 'soothing', either.

But, despite all of the house's imperfections (its corny name being one of them), it was never _sad _either.

There was always talking and laughing and jokey insults (and not-so-jokey insults) between the two brothers at the table, with Rikku cracking bad jokes and flipping pancakes and asking ever-so-sweetly "was it _you _who ate all the ramen last night, Sora? And was your English teacher _lying _to me when she said you called her a crazy old hag, Roxas?".

In his defence, Roxas always claimed that Maleficent was a crazy old hag so why couldn't he say so? Rikku always encouraged the truth, after all.

Still, Roxas was prone to bending the facts just a little. Usually the names he hurled at Maleficent were tainted with more poison than a bottle of arsenic and were usually a lot worse than 'you crazy old hag'.

But hey, Roxas had obviously inherited the ability to lie from his mother.

It sure _sounded _like a April Fool's when she dragged Roxas downstairs and told him that Sora was dead.

In fact, it wasn't just Sora.

It was Sora **and** Riku, and nobody knew what had happened to Naminé.

The words "it's not the first of April yet, you weirdo" were just on the tip of Roxas' tongue when, in a great flutter of crinkly black-and-white writing and photographs, a newspaper was thrown into Roxas' face, sheets flapping like a butterfly.

Hastily, Roxas snatched up the newspaper before it hit the kitchen floor thriving in E Coli (he'd always had a thing about germs) and stared down at page 13.

How symbolic.

He let his bright blue eyes fall down the page slowly, his brain sponging up pieces of information and storing them away for safe-keeping.

_The Birthday Massacre_

_Reporters gathered to the scene of the crime late last night after an urgent message was sent to the police by one Miss Kairi Panettiere. The frantic young girl (just turned 16) explained hurriedly how the body of her friend, Riku Gallager, was uncovered at the bottom of the stairs with a kitchen knife stuck between his ribs._

_Upon an extensive search of the area, another body was found in the garden – that of Sora Joel Osment, 16. He had been subjected to severe beatings around the face and stomach._

_Naminé Snow, 15, was also reported missing._

And so and so forth, with a substantial sum of money offered from Naminé's 'distraught' parents as to the whereabouts of 'their little angel' and a desperate plea for people to come forth and share their evidence.

And then, at the bottom of the article, the school photos. Naminé, Sora and Riku.

Roxas remembered how Naminé **hated** to have her photo taken – she'd always wriggle to the side or hide behind her hair and curl her hands in her lap even when the old, bald men told her to smile.

Naminé smiled all the time.

It was a shame that she was never going to smile again, the only remnants of her pretty face a school photo of her tilted to the side, hidden behind her hair, eyes downcast and full of thunder.

It was a shame that everybody across Destiny Islands were going to open their papers to be greeted by a picture Naminé hoped nobody would ever, ever see.

It was a shame Naminé was dead.

But it was a shame about a lot of things.

Roxas wanted a new mobile phone, but he couldn't have that.

Naminé, Riku, Sora. They all wanted to live. They couldn't have that.

Maybe, Roxas thought absent-mindedly as he left his house (left Rikku, crying), he should've said something more than "what a pity."

Maybe he should have tried to comfort Rikku, should've played the perfect son and offered to stay off school to comfort her, should've made her breakfast and sat her in bed and painted her nails and braided her hair and done **everything** for her like Naminé did for her mum when their cat died.

Maybe he should've acted like he _cared_.

But Roxas **didn't **care.

Rikku wanted a son who cared, but she couldn't have that.

It was a shame.

* * *

"_Do you think I'll look horrible in the picture, Roxas?"_

"_Eh... You could _smile _more. You have a lovely smile.."_

"_So do you, but you never use it, picture or no!" Naminé grinned, hooking her arms with Roxas as they walked lazily across the field, banging into each other companionably. "I hope nobody ever sees that picture. I'd sooner _die._"_

_

* * *

_

"I still think I looked horrible in that photo," moaned Naminé, normally pale skin even _paler_ as it shimmered with stagnant pond-water, paper-thin arms linked with Roxas as they ambled to school.

"Good job you died first, right?" Roxas smirked, as Naminé grinned. "I mean, you'd rather die than have everyone see the picture, right?"

"Hehe. I guess."

"Hey, Naminé?"

"Yes?"

"What's it like? You know, being dead?" asked the boy softly, head fixed carefully on the path ahead so that other people would not think the crazy boy was talking to himself.

"Well… I dunno… It's hard to explain. Like physics! Hehe. I never understood that. But anyway… Um… It's…" Naminé frowned, hair swirling around her broken face and bruised lips, red splattering across her normally white dress like a tie-dye pattern.

It was a pretty pattern, actually. From an angle it sort of looked like a moogle.

From another it looked like a skull.

"It's cold," the girl finished, somewhat lamely. Her eyes (or eye, as it were) seemed to swim with thoughts she could never hope to verbalise no matter how many lifetimes – death times? Whatever – it took.

"It must be nice to be dead."

"What makes you say that?"

"I feel cold all the time anyway. And I know I _should_ care about this but… But I don't. I really don't. And I don't even care about not caring, either. Does that make me a bad person?"

"You know what, Roxas? Because of all this my family's going to be upset. Does that make me a bad person for dying? Does that make a bad person for upsetting them?"

"No."

"Well there you go then. I'm _glad _you don't care, Roxas, because then I don't have to care about you. I'm already worrying about so many people I don't think I'd have enough time for one more."

"I never worry about anyone."

"Then nobody will ever worry about you."

_I think she's trying to make a point here._

_And yet…_

_I don't care._

_

* * *

_

**a.n: yay apathetic!roxas is scary xD.**


	7. he grins a broken smile

**chapter seven  
**_he grins a broken smile_

* * *

"Hey, Roxas..."

The boy's head jerked up almost quick enough to cause whiplish, blue eyes large as if he were a child caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. But no, that would never happen. Roxas hadn't ever had a sweet tooth, not even as a child.

"You're awfully jumpy," Naminé grinned, fingers pulling at strands of his hair. "Care to tell? A trouble shared is a trouble halved."

_A trouble shared is a trouble doubled._

Roxas had never been one for this 'confession' crap, either - if he had a secret then that was how it would remain and no amount of poking or prying would ever change that.

"Naminé..." the boy whispered, attempting to keep his lips still so the fact he was talking to someone nobody else in the class could see wasn't so obvious. Not that he didn't have the right to have a mental breakdown, situations being what they were.

"His brother and his best friend," people had whispered. Were probably still whispering it, actually - the teachers were deluding themselves if they thought anything was going to get learnt today, not with so much gossip around. It had spread like a disease and was highly contagious; by the end of the day everybody would be infected with the knowledge of Naminé, Sora and Riku's untimely deaths.

Most people had been treating him like he had the plague ever since he arrived at school that morning anyway, not that he hadn't expected it - griveing period and all that crap. Still, even if they hadn't died, would things have been any different? Nobody spoke to him that much anyway apart from the blonde girl. And yet here she was, good as new (if slightly hacked, smashed, butchered and... oh yeah... dead).

Nothing had changed.

Should something had changed?

He could always ask Naminé - she'd always been better with emotions. She _was_ a girl, after all.

"You died yesterday. What do you want me to feel?"

"Knowing you, Roxas..." Naminé paused, nibbling her lower lip. "Not that much."

Roxas wondered about being angry with her - damn her, she was his 'ghost'. Maybe not even that, just a figment of the imagination. What right did she have to say things like that, implying he was cold, heartless, inhuman...

What right did she have to tell the truth when her existance was probably not true in itself?

"You know me too well," was all Roxas said on the matter, filling in boxes on his answer sheet with equations, spidery ys and xs all looping across eachother like thorns around a fairytale castle.

"I've only been friends with you all my life, Roxas."

"You don't have a life anymore."

"Maybe not in the physical sense, no... But I'm still very much alive in the hearts of others."

Roxas stared at Naminé, trying to gauge from her expression - sparkling blue eyes (she has one eye, Roxas) and a twisted smile - if she was being serious or not. Maybe being dead turned people into great philosophers - great _fools, _more like.

"Well, okay, I wouldn't go _that_ far," Naminé giggled softly, winding a strand of blonde hair around one of her smashed fingers. She pulled the digit away and watched the coil of hair spiral around on itself until it lay flat again. "But I do have a purpose."

Roxas yawned and glanced back to his sheet, brain working on auto-pilot as algebraic formulae went in, answers came out. Who would've known about the conversation he was holding as his pen darted across the page? Ha. Who said boys couldn't multi-task?

"And what is that?"

The girl stared at Roxas intently with her blue eyes (_eye, Roxas_), boring a hole through his soul much deeper than any of the flesh wounds littering her skin.

"Find who did it..." She blinked slowly. "Please?"

"And if I don't?"

"You're only human, Roxas. Not clockwork. Not indestructible. I can press every single one of your buttons and I can make you go 'boom'," Naminé sighed softly as she let her fingers ghost over the boy's face, down his neck. "Emotion... It's down there somewhere but you lock it away, and after a while it's going to eat you up bit by bit like maggots on flesh... Leeches on blood... If you keep supressing and supressing you're going to explode, Roxas..." her voice trailed off, sounding slightly dazed, whacked-out, not-quite-there. "I expect it'll be quite pretty."

"Naminé..."

This girl wasn't Naminé.

This girl was sick and twisted with her little smiles and far-away expressions and stupid mind-games and oh, Roxas could tell what was going on from about a mile away.

This girl wasn't Naminé - how could she be, Naminé was _dead_. She was at the bottom of a pond with one of her eyes torn out all useless and bloody and stained with crimson, covered in weeds.

This girl was Roxas, Roxas, **all Roxas**.

All Roxas' imagination.

But once you've figured out you're crazy you're not allowed to be crazy anymore, are you? So why was she still there?

"Because you're feeling guilty."

"Why would I feel _guilty_?"

"Because you don't know who killed me... And you want to find out."

* * *

Roxas' eyes narrowed as he surveyed the students going about their normal mundane lives, lockers clanging and kids chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen.

"Are you going to Larxene's party?"

Funny how only a day ago he had watched Naminé enter that house.

"Is that new lipstick you're wearing?"

Funny how he remembered watching her apply the stuff on in a compact mirror, fingers shaking slightly ("I want to look good." "But you look perfect anyway.")

And...

"Did you hear about those kids last night? Did you hear about **Roxas**?"

Roxas hadn't even been the one who'd died, and yet somehow he'd been turned into a celebrity for it.

_He hadn't even died..._

"I'm not so sure about that..." Naminé muttered, fluttering behind him like a leaf caught in a breeze. "Something died yesterday. Sort of like a light switch being put out, switched off, black out. No more Roxas."

No more Naminé, either.

But why didn't anybody care about that?

Why didn't _he_ care about that?

Was that apathy worse than driving a knife through her, again and again?

"It wasn't a knife," Naminé mused, floating along like a puppet on a string, shoes barely scuffing the litter-strewn floor. "I was beaten, actually. Would've been nicer to used a knife, I suppose - put me out of my misery quicker. I think my lungs sorta welcomed the water when I was pushed into that pond. Didn't struggle very hard."

"Bastards."

* * *

Fuu sighed as she carefully ringed her eyes with make-up, blinking to dispel any large clumps of black smush on her otherwise perfect lashes.

"Fifth time today you've re-applied your eyeliner," Selphie said in a matter-of-fact voice, leant against the cold tile wall examining her bright pink nails. "I'm worried about you, girl. You don't go around crying at the drop of a hat. It's just not _like _you."

"..."

Selphie blinked, watching as Fuu hid her eyes behind her silver bangs. She used to be quite talkative before that bloody party. Now it was hard to coax anything out of her other than one-liners, tortured looks, sharp intakes of breath, tears...

"Look, Fuu, I'm sorry. I guess I don't understand-"

"No. You don't. But I do."

* * *

**a.n: fwahahaha. enjoy, betches. the next chapter is nearly done already as well ;D**


	8. go and find someone else to blame

**chapter eight  
**_maybe you should go and find someone else to blame_

* * *

_"Who was that?" asked Roxas, leaning in closer to the girl. He grinned and nudged her in the ribs, voice taunting. "Was it your boyfriend?"_

_"No," Naminé shook her head, snapping her mobile shut and stowing it back into her school bag. "Why do you care anyway?"_

_"Cause you're my friend, Nam. I was just wondering."_

_"Yeah..." Naminé sighed a long, drawn-out sigh, tracing random patterns in the grass with her index finger. Roxas leaned in a tad closer, squinting slightly; a heart, perhaps? It looked like a heart. "Well, it _was _a boy. I just don't suppose he's my friend - not now I turned him down, anyway. He said some pretty horrible stuff, actually." Yeah, that was a heart. A heart with an arrow shoved through it._

_"So... Who was it?"_

* * *

"Seifer!" Roxas cried, his voice sounding impressive even to his own ears. The way it bounced off the walls and reverberated through the corridors was really quite spectacular, especially for somebody who barely said more then a handful of words a day. "Seifer, we need to talk."

"What is it, Rucksack?" Seifer asked, turning his head.

Well, that just cinched it. If the enraged blond hadn't been going to punch him before, he sure as hell was now.

The taller boy's head smashed back into his locker with a sickening crack - a broken skull, perhaps? Roxas just didn't know his own strength - and a symphony of swear words issued forth from his lips. Music to Roxas' ears.

"What the fuck?"

"Nobody messes with Seifer, y'know?"

And, in the background; "_Has Roxas gone crazy?", "What happened?", "Roxas... Wasn't he that girl's friend?", "Is there a fight? Somebody said there was a fight!", "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"_.

Only fuelled on by the general demands of the student body, Roxas hissed "Shut up" through clenched teeth and sent another fist flying into Seifer's jaw, a foot to Seifer's shins. One well-aimed kick and he was on the floor, blood trickling from his nose, panic in his eyes.

Raii was too scared to even lift a finger.

Fuck, when Roxas was through with Seifer _he _wouldn't be able to lift a finger.

Roxas sent another punch to the boy's face and felt the delicate nasal cartilage give way under his fist. Hmn, and that ring on his finger probably wasn't helping too much, either. Seifer attempted to sweep the boy's feet out from under him with a kick but, judgement clouded by pain, that was easily avoided, and a kick of his own from Roxas that landed square on his stomach laid to rest any other thoughts of retaliation.

"What the fuck? Fuck, man! Stop it! What've I done?!" Seifer cried, watching the boy with wide eyes as if he was a time bomb.

Roxas drew back, feeling his enemy's warm blood on his skin.

Revenge felt good.

"You know what you've done," Roxas said simply, bending down so his face was level with Seifer's. "You killed Naminé Snow. Maybe Sora Joel Osment and Riku Gallager too."

There was a gasp.

Roxas smiled in a lop-sided way, taking hold of Seifer head and banging it back sharply into the locker behind him. He liked the way the noise echoed in the hall so he did it again and again, prompting more and more moans from his defeated foe. His arms were folded sadly and trailing like pond weed, legs buckled and bent, scalp bleeding profusely.

"You killed them, you sick fucker. I can't believe I didn't suspect you before, but now it's so. Fucking. Clear." And Roxas slammed his head back into the locker twice more upon those two last words, pulling away with another complimentary fist to his jaw. "You used to harass Nami all the time. I remember she got countless texts off you asking for dates and then, when she refused... Well, you kept threatening her. You and your pathetic posse. You tripped her in the corridors and you spread rumours and you did everything in your power to make her life a living hell. And then you went to Kairi's party... So did she."

Seifer lifted his head, tried to speak ("I didn't...") but Roxas cut across him.

"Maybe you tried something on at the party. Got her cornered with nowhere else to go. And obviously she would've said no. Maybe it was too much to take. Maybe you snapped and beat her to let her feel some of the pain the rejection made _you_ feel. I don't think you meant to kill her, you know..." Roxas sighed, kicking Seifer in the ribs again, smacking his head into the locker again, listening to him swear again.

It made him feel good.

"I think you loved her, you just lost control for a few seconds, went a bit crazy and... Well, you didn't mean to kill her. But it doesn't change the fact that you still did." Another kick. Smack. Swearing, muttering, pleas, all silenced by Roxas' voice as he told his story. "And then you panicked, wondered what to do with the body. I guess Sora and Riku heard the noise and went to see what was going on and you could've have them running their mouths off, telling everyone what happened. You did the only logical thing. You killed them both and then hid Naminé's body. Didn't you? _Didn't you_?"

Seifer's breath hitched in his throat as his head was banged into his locker yet again, eyes large, frantic, terrified. "Look, man..." he whispered, voice weak, cracking slightly. "Look, you've got it all wrong. Yeah, I liked Naminé, but the girl didn't like me... I acted... I was being childish, I admit, man. But that was all ages ago. I reformed, I figured - look, she'll _never _like you if you're an obnoxious asshole. I thought maybe at the party I could be _nice_ to her, tell her I was sorry. And we got on OK, Roxas, we got on okay. We danced and laughed and had a great time. And then..."

"And then?"

"And then I _left_, okay! I went ages before everybody else 'cause I was going to my grandma's!"

Roxas' eyes narrowed into slits, a wide smile seeming to split his face in two. He kicked Seifer in the side, watching as the boy's hands gave way beneath him, watched as he fell back to the floor. He wouldn't be getting back up.

He'd _never _be getting back up.

"Liar."

Another fist connected with Seifer's jaw, blood splashed on the floor in garish crimson puddles as Seifer lay like a broken doll, barely breathing.

He was still _breathing._

Roxas was going to fix that once and for all.

"An eye for an eye, Seifer. An eye for an eye..."

Roxas crashed his foot down on the fallen boy's chest, pushing against his ribcage, laughing - human bodies were so _frail_, so _weak_, so easily _broken_ and bloody and oh-so-red inside...

Red that splattered the floor, the walls, his hands, his shirt, her dress.

"Roxas! Roxas, stop!"

Hands were twining around him, pulling him away, voices screaming in his ears...

"Roxas! No!"

Naminé?

"Naminé's _dead_!" screamed the girl shrilly, the hands had had been supporting him suddenly tearing at his hair, his eyes, his clothes, his skin, fingernails raking down his cheeks in a flurry of red, so much red, too much red... Red blood, red dress, red... Red hair?

"Kairi?"

"He was _right_, Roxas! Seifer was right, he was telling the _truth_! He did have to leave early!" sobbed Kairi, her mascara streaking down from her eyes, strange obsidian shapes marring her pale face, pale hands, red hands, red blood, red hair... "God, pull yourself together! Naminé's dead but killing innocent people won't bring her back, spilling innocent blood won't make everything okay again! Naminé's dead... Sora's dead... Riku's dead... All of them, all dead! I don't... I don't want that to happen to Seifer..."

All the fight just went out of her after that, the red-head free-falling to the floor, knees crashing into the lino, eyes red and puffy, hair red and messy, hands red and bloody.

"She's right."

All heads turned to stare at Fuu as she walked down the corridor, eyes hidden behind her tangles of silver hair, all of them waiting, waiting, eager...

Thirsty for bloodshed.

"Naminé's dead, Roxas. Naminé's dead... because of _you_."

* * *

**a.n: gaspness. well, that was interesting, no? x3 i have some explaining to do...**


	9. your mouth was never one to trust

**chapter nine  
**_your mouth was never one to trust_

* * *

_He met her in the summertime (at least, he was pretty sure he did); roughly around August when the plate-sized sun beat down relentlessly on the black tarmac of the roads so they scorched underfoot, and little children ran around getting sweaty in the park while their mothers sighed and tutted and fussed about their make-up running._

_She had been a shy little girl perched precariously on the edge of a park bench, bitten fingernails in her lap and dainty feet barely brushing the ground, legs swinging back and forth like metronomes._

_Normally four-year-old Roxas would have laughed at such a silly girl (after all, he was a boy and _all _girls were silly to him, especially ones as impeccably dressed as her) and that would be the end of it. Certainly he wouldn't unwind his skinny legs from around the rusty bars of the climbing frame and make his way over to her. Yet, strangely enough, he did._

_Maybe it was the overpowering heat from the sun that was addling with his mind and giving him skin cancer. Maybe it was the need to prove to Sora he could make friends just as easily as he could (for, out of the two brothers, Roxas had always been more of a loner). Or maybe it was just how very blue her eyes were, and how very blonde her hair was, and how very pretty her smile was when he skirted past the swing sets and gave her a quick wave._

_That smile made the whole endeavour worthwhile._

"_Hi," Roxas grinned, plopping himself down on the uncomfortable wooden slats of the bench. The girl budged to the side in response, allowing him more room to spread out. "My name's Roxas 'nd I'm four years old. What's your name?"_

* * *

"Roxas? Roxas, are you okay?" asked Naminé, voice laced with a fine coating of anxiety as she floated behind the blond boy. Her feet ghosted across the ground, sandals scuffing the cement as she indulged in her on-going game of follow-the-leader, hair blowing behind her in the gentle breeze.

Oh yes; in all the poor blond's despair and confusion he'd fled, pushing through crowds of people like a bowling bowl until he'd reached the sanctuary of the outside world. His heart had been in his mouth (threatening to spill out onto the floor, almost) as he made his escape, a knot of fear straining in the pits of his stomach as he mused over the consequences of his actions.

Well, _first_ he'd tried to kill one of his peers, _second _he'd been accused of being a murderer, and _third _he'd just ran out of school without even an excuse or alibi (he highly doubted 'I was trying to run away because everybody thinks I'm a deranged psycho who killed my brother and my best friend' would hold up in front of his head teacher, much less a police officer).

Even now, while he was free from suspicious glances and muffled whispers, he was still running, trainer-clad feet carrying him on auto-pilot to somewhere, anywhere. It didn't matter; just as long as it was far away.

Never mind that he had a stitch in his side and an awful taste in his mouth and tears were prickling uncomfortably in the corners of his baby blues like he had a grain of sand caught in there or something; no, never mind all that. He was just going to keep on running because there was nothing else to do but go back and face the mess he'd left behind. And of course, he _couldn't _do that. Not if he didn't want to puke out his intestines.

As he ran wildly, soles of his shoes slapping against the concrete sidewalks – _thwack, thwack, thwack _– and his lungs expanding and contracting in a laboured manner than made his breathing short and sharp, a plethora of thoughts ran through his head like water down a drain.

_Did I really kill Naminé? Well, I nearly killed Seifer, I wouldn't put it past me… But no, I wasn't even _at_ the party. I was at home, doing Algebra equations!_

…_But…_

_If I had, hypothetically, been at the party, _would _I have been able to kill all those people?_

Stone-cold dread wracked Roxas' body like a tidal wave, consequently sending him into a state of rigor mortis as his muscles tensed up and his legs refused to bend. He felt sick to the stomach, retching a little as he grabbed his middle; but no, he _couldn't _stop, he had to keep going. Had to.

And so he did.

The boy continued to run; fuelled by some strange poisoning of the brain that kept him going forwards despite the fact he kept stumbling and tripping on invisible barriers. The knowledge of how to move in straight lines had long since departed his slightly unhinged mind (roughly 0.32 seconds after Fuu had voiced her accusations in the school corridor, to be precise). It was only to be expected that he kept staggering, falling, tripping over his own feet and the fear of being caught that was so immense it seemed almost tangible.

Every movement caused the blond a great amount of pain, garish ketchup-coloured streaks adoring his knees and hands, but he still couldn't stop. He _couldn't_, not even when Naminé tried to catch him by his shoulders. She was dead, anyway – her pale skin scythed right through him and made him feel sick all over again.

_Yeah, she's _dead_ and now everybody thinks you're the one who killed her… You're the one who beat her senseless and broke her pretty face into pieces and dumped her into a duck pond…_

_The duck pond!_

Roxas gasped in triumph, breath hitching in his throat as he suddenly spun a full one hundred and eighty degrees in his well-worn trainers, doubling back on himself, heart thumping so hard against his ribcage the bones were in danger of shattering; porcelain.

"Where are you going?" Naminé inquired, pivoting around on the spot to match Roxas' hasty movements. In a short matter of time she was at his side again, hair and dress snagging in the breeze like clouds of smoke.

"The park," Roxas replied, amazed he could still _talk _when there was so much blood pounding in his head, trickling cobwebs down his arms and legs, splashed across Naminé's dress in such a matter-of-fact manner it could've been strawberry jam. "That's where this all started, that was the place I… I found you…" he gulped, face contorted like there was something sour on the tip of his tongue. "I just need some time to sit and think."

"Ah. Thinking. A pastime I highly endorse," Naminé said in a sing-song voice, words adopting a teasing lilt. "Much better than running around town all dressed up like a blood bank, hmn?"

"You," Roxas said, tone of voice almost conversational despite the fact that, prior to his sudden revelation, he'd been running around like a headless chicken, "have some serious _issues_ regarding your sense of humour."

"And you," Naminé countered, a childish grin on her face, "have some serious _issues_ regarding your sudden mood swings."

Roxas didn't reply; he couldn't, even if he wanted to.

It hurt too much.

* * *

_Roxas and the blonde girl quickly became close friends, much to everybody's amazement. They were so _different _from it each other that the notion a strong alliance between the two seemed almost laughable. And yet, there they were; the boy with his scruffy clothes and blunt way of speaking, the girl with her pristine party frocks and musical laughter. Sort of like wind chimes, Rikku couldn't help but think idly. Once upon a time she'd strung a few wind chimes up around the house after a friend told her it was good feng shui but then Sora and Roxas, aided and abetted with a Blitzball, had managed to tear them down in seconds._

_Not so lucky after all, then._

"_I really like you, Roxas," the blonde had said in sugar-sweet tones as the two knelt at the grassy edge of the duck pond, absent-mindedly tearing the crusts off slices of brown bread and throwing them into the murky water._

_Roxas watched as the slices of bread became waterlogged and sank, squishy balls of dough and yeast that slipped under the surface and sank slowly to the bottom like dead bodies._

_Hmn…_

* * *

"Thought of anything yet, genius?" Naminé teased, coiling one strand of blonde hair around a milky-white (strawberry-red) finger. Her sandal-clad feet kicked aimlessly through a handful of flowers underfoot as she did so, and Roxas couldn't help but remember the very first time he seen her sat on a park bench – perhaps the very same park bench they were sharing now, he couldn't remember. Maybe if he had been a girl he might have, but boys like Roxas were not necessarily inclined to be able to recall every little detail with absolute precision.

"Your feet didn't touch the floor."

"Excuse me?"

"When I first met you," Roxas elaborated, a small smile on his face. So small, in fact, one could have missed it if they didn't look hard enough. "You were so _tiny _your feet didn't touch the floor. But look – they do now."

Naminé nodded, still intent on fazing her feet in and out of the bedraggled-looking primroses. "It's funny how things change, isn't it? I mean, one minute you're a perfectly normal – albeit a little socially inept – kid, the next everybody's penning you as a mass murderer. My oh my."

"My oh my _indeed_," Roxas sighed, looking out past the faded swing sets and see-saws to the duck pond, but not really _seeing _it. Not really seeing the place where Naminé's body was. Why did he need to her see her body, anyway, when her soul (ghost, spirit, memory, zombie, whatever) was sat beside him right now, trying to uproot a load of flowers? "You know what, Nam?"

"What?"

"I do have an idea."

"Oh?" prompted the girl, snapping her gaze from the ugly flowers to Roxas' face almost instantaneously. In a heart beat, one would probably say if their heart hadn't ceased to beat, unlike a certain _somebody's_. Nobody's. Naminé was just smoke and mirrors and God only knew what else now. She didn't occupy any _space_; henceforth, she was nothing.

Strange how she still meant so much to Roxas, even though he still wasn't quite sure whether she was real or not.

"Yeah. You see, I can't be exactly one hundred percent sure that I didn't go to the party. I mean, unlikely as it sounds, I could've decided to go after all and then somehow repressed all my memories of it because it was so horrific."

"Like amnesia?"

"_Precisely_," Roxas said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth for further affirmation. "And so the way I figured, there's only _one_ way I'm going to be able to find out if I was there or not."

"And what way is that, Einstein?" inquired the girl, eyes (she has _one _eye, Roxas) wide as if she were watching some soap opera on TV; you could just picture her reaching for the remote and upping the volume, fingers trembling in anticipation.

"I'm going to go and ask Kairi."

* * *

**a.n: yay. roxas was all 'zomg' at first and reverted back to his normal self. more things will be explained next chapter, hopefully D and omg, a quick update! i just felt inspired… i do love this story so.**


	10. it's not worth the tears

**chapter ten  
**_it's not worth the tears_

* * *

"Are you _sure _this is a good idea?" inquired Naminé, fiddling nervously with the hem of her white (and red) dress. Her fingers were shaking as though she had arthritis, bitten nails catching a loose thread on her outfit. She began to pick at it absent-mindedly, humming as she did so.

"Shut up," Roxas replied irritably.

Naminé grinned a little at the explosive response she had prompted from him, still pick pick picking at that damned piece of cotton, twisting it round one of her fingers until it was stretched taught. She'd been Roxas' friend long enough to tell he was only annoyed because she'd been voicing his own opinions. Oh yes, Roxas was feeling _nervous _as he stood in Kairi's front garden examining the flaking red paint on the door, and he _didn't _need the ghost of his ex best friend reminding him of it.

Roxas didn't like to feel emotions at the best of times; it made him feel weak. And now, scuffing the floor with his trainers and sticking his hands into his pockets jut for something to do, was the worst of times to feel scared. He couldn't back down now though.

"Are you sure she's back home yet? She could still be at school."

"Naminé, what colour is the sky?" Roxas asked, sweeping his eyes around Kairi's front yard with mild interest.

It was a scrapheap of a garden, he couldn't help but note, and Rikku would've had a _coronary _just looking at it. Well, maybe not Rikku - she wasn't all that skilled at housekeeping either (one look through their letterbox would've put paid to that notion) – but their next-door-neighbour Aerith Gainsborough certainly would've had a few things to say about the seemingly random arrangements of tattered flowers, gently dying grass and the large, thick weeds that were running rampant and strangling all other forms of life rather brutally. And _then_, if one were to peer into the undergrowth hard enough (perhaps with the aid of a magnifying glass), a horde of empty chip packets and sea-salt ice-cream wrappers and crumpled cans of coke would've met the eye. Not to mention the whole 'this place has just been hit by a bomb' look was further accented by the faint smell of smoke and ash that drifted through the air in waves.

Either a barbeque had taken place lately, or Kairi and her family had a strange penchant for setting things on fire…

"Hmn… What colour is the sky… Tricky one, really…" Naminé muttered, fingers hooked under her chin in mock thought as she pretended to take the question seriously. "Would it, by any chance, happen to be red and lime green with a few spots of maroon?"

"No, you _dummy_," Roxas said in what he hoped was a dead-pan voice, but all his efforts were spoilt when a smile crept, unbidden, onto his face. "The sky right now, if you hadn't noticed, is a very dark blue."

"Meaning?"

"_Meaning _it's roughly six or seven p.m. I'm pretty sure Kairi'll be home from school by now."

And, as if some divine entity had looked from his cloud and spotted Roxas stood outside Kairi's humble abode (face contorted into one of disgust as the delightful aroma of ash and pet cemeteries continued to invade his nostrils), at that precise moment the door creaked open to reveal a teenage girl.

"Um, hey," Roxas said, waving awkwardly at the female and, at the same time, taking a quick mental snapshot of her outfit and general appearance.

Red hair that looked like it needed reacquainting with Mr. Hairbrush, papery pale skin, large violet eyes were a little bit red and puffy around the edges and a short pink dress studded with random zippers and pockets that served no use apart from 'looking cool'.

Oh yes, this teenage girl was definitely Kairi-shaped, alright.

"R-Roxas?" asked the girl uncertainly, hastily swiping her fingertips around the corners of her eyes in order to catch any tell-tale tears.

"Um, yeah…" Roxas replied, shifting slightly from one foot to the other. "Um, I just wanted to talk to you about… About your party." Kairi's face crumpled, and the boy found himself hurriedly tacking on a little "Of course, that is, if you _want_ to. I mean, if you don't feel like it its fine, I can go n-"

"No. Don't go," Kairi pleaded, catching Roxas' arm in order to stop him fleeing like Cinderella; here the girl allowed herself a small smile as the idea of Roxas turning into a pumpkin filled her head. However, that smile was quickly banished by her next words. "I need… I need to talk to somebody about it…"

"Um, no, that's OK, I only had one question anyway, and Rikku will be wondering where I am…" Roxas' voice trailed off, finally aware of the fact that yes, Rikku _would _be wondering where he was.

Damn it, why hadn't he thought of that before?

"But…" Kairi's face fell, as did that root-like hand that anchored Roxas into place on her doorstep. Her eyes were shining with suppressed tears that probably wouldn't stay suppressed for too long, looking so small and broken it _hurt_. "But… I thought _you'd _understand!"

"I do understand! I understand perfectly – you're upset about the deaths of your friends, anyone would be. I mean, _I'm _upset too. I'll never see Sora or Naminé again…"

Naminé grinned slightly through a mouthful of broken teeth and bloody tongue, fluttering around the boy and girl like a butterfly, or maybe just a candy wrapper caught in a sudden breeze.

"Eh, sorry Roxas. Death isn't going to stop you seeing me. We're best friends, right?" she inquired playfully, pausing by his side to link her skinny, intangible arm through his.

"No, no, _no_! That's not it!" Kairi cried in a melancholy way (the drama club freaks - the ones with green hair and multiple piercings – would've been proud of her, the way she making a scene). "I just thought… I thought I could talk to you because you were _there_ at the party and, well, I know Fuu accused you but she's always been a bit strange and Naminé was your best friend and… And, oh God…"

Oh God indeed.

Roxas just stood there and **stood there** and **stood there**, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, not knowing what to say or what to do.

It was, quite literally, like his world had imploded in on itself.

* * *

Kairi's kitchen was much like the outside of her house; messy, disorganised and rather pungent. All the cooking appliances were kicked into seemingly random corners and covered inch-thick in grease, dirty plates were stacked in the sink like the turrets of a (rather dirty) fairy-tale castle, and the cracked lino floor was dotted with reminders of long-ago meals. However, despite all these 'minor' imperfections, it was not a particularly _bad _room. The walls were painted banana yellow and the table had been cleaned at least two weeks ago and there wasn't that much mould in those coffee cups on the side. It was obvious that the residents of the house loved it very much and tried to make it presentable.

However, despite this little nugget of wisdom Roxas still wasn't drinking any of that coffee Kairi had made him for fear the cup was filled with sludge. Instead, he was pouring the contents into a strategically placed and rather dead potted plant whenever Kairi wasn't paying attention (which was quite a lot of the time, considering she had to dab at her eyes with a piece of kitchen paper every once in a while).

"So… So first it was just me and Sora and Riku…" Kairi said between sniffles, manoeuvring her own coffee cup around the table as if it were an interestingly-shaped piece in a game of chess. "And… And then Nami came, and then Seifer and Raii and Fuu… And we were all watching these horror films, right? Only then Seifer had to go early so it was just the six of us – oh, and Axel and Sally, but they stayed in their rooms listening to heavy metal for the most part."

"Oh yeah, Axel Panettiere…" Roxas muttered, staring into the murky depths of his coffee cup as if it held the meaning of life. "I forgot you were related to him…"

_Aha. So that's why the whole house smells like a bonfire… It's because of that weirdo pyromaniac… _

Roxas mentally patted himself on the back for solving yet another pressing mystery, and then returned to his previous antics; feeding his coffee to the dying plant behind him.

"Most people forget we're related," Kairi said with a shrug. "So anyway, it was just us six… And then the doorbell rang half-way through the second film, so I went to go and get it and it was _you_. Well, I'm sure you know it was you."

"Sure," Roxas affirmed, nodding his head despite the fact he really had no idea what he'd been doing the night of the party. He'd just have to play it cool for now and hope Kairi didn't get suspicious of his sudden memory lapse.

_But, _the boy reasoned with himself, _just because I don't remember what happened doesn't necessarily make _me _the killer. I mean, if I was there when Naminé, Riku and Sora got killed I wouldn't want to remember it. I could have repressed the memories because they were so painful or terrifying. And Fuu may have thought I did it, but Kairi certainly doesn't… That counts for something, right?_

"Well, there you were, and I was like 'Roxas, what a pleasant surprise' and you said you were just checking up on Naminé to see if she was alright. You were going to leave, remember, but I told you that if you'd bothered to come over then you might as well stay until the end and drive… And drive Nami home… Oh dear," Kairi sighed, staring fixatedly at a spot of grease on the table as if it were some reincarnation of Jesus. Then again, maybe not; if she _had _been convinced that it was, indeed, a holy spot of grease, would she really have started picking at it like that with her orange-painted fingernails?

"So we all went and watched rest of the film together, right?" Roxas prompted, wishing she would finish her little vignette. He was practically on the edge of his seat, breath bated, waiting…

"Yeah," the red-head nodded shakily, flicking the spot of grease across the table. "We all watched the rest of the film, and then we got started on another but then Riku said he wanted to have a word with Nami so they went upstairs – get a little more privacy, I guess, 'cause Sora was being immature and singing 'Riku and Naminé, sitting in a tree' and the film was pretty loud and… And… And then we realised they'd been gone for ages, so you and Sora went to look for them and… And…"

"And that was the last time you saw Sora?"

Kairi's eyes were wide, glistening with tears, and her voice shook as she replied; "Yes… That was the last time…"

_At least, _Roxas couldn't help but think, _until you found his dead body..._

* * *

**a.n: gasp. i updated super hyper crazy quick again xD so kairi reveals some stuff that happened. there will probably be some flashback stuff next chapter and more explaining avast :D**


	11. we'll never be bound by love

**chapter eleven  
**_we'll never be bound by love_

* * *

The street was silent (almost unnaturally so), the silhouettes of houses pressed against a backdrop of another dying day. The sky was dark, barely lit up by the sun as it slowly descended beyond the horizon line, the moon glinting eerily beyond the slated rooftops; large and milky white.

Pools of glaring yellow light dotted the pavement at random intervals, the only noise aside from the whistle of the wind a repetitive '_slap, slap, slap_' as Roxas' trainers met the gum-splattered, litter-strewn concrete.

The air was crisp, the sky overcast, the weather seeming ready to change for the worst. A bout of torrential rain, perhaps, or maybe a good old-fashioned thunderstorm?

_Exactly the kind of setting for a horror film_, Roxas couldn't help but think.

Perhaps, if he had not lived on a steady diet of Hollywood's more gruesome, macabre movies from the tender young age of six, he would have been slightly unnerved at the way his footsteps seem to echo around the deserted street like whispers in the wind, or at the way the shadows beneath his feet seemed to twist into horrible fairytale monsters with long claws and lamp-like eyes. However, Roxas had discovered a long time ago he was no longer susceptible to such foolish fears. Movies were movies and life was life, and he had no hard time distinguishing a firm line between the two.

A firm line which had, admittedly, become slightly blurred at the edges once Naminé became a member of the living undead, but still. Naminé could've been resurrected as Beelzebub himself (herself?) and Roxas wouldn't have batted an eyelid. It was impossible for the girl to be scary, even missing an eye; she'd been his friend for too long.

And perhaps, what with all the movies he watched, he'd simply become immune to fear. He simply accepted that with all human life came death, and what did it matter if you met you maker on a deserted street in the company of your best (dead) friend or at home in a warm, comfortable bed with many multi-coloured blankets?

Death happened to everybody, so why should he be afraid of something he couldn't change?

_And, if a homicidal maniac with a pink scythe _does_ randomly decide to jump me in the middle of the street, I can always kick them in the head, spit in their face and then run to one of the nearby houses begging for sanctuary_, Roxas thought with a small smile.

Oh yes; he pitied any homicidal maniac that would dare be foolhardy enough to pick a fight with him.

"Roxas?" Naminé inquired in her soft voice, the sort she used when she was trying to tip-toe around a delicate subject for fear of angering anyone to the point where they hacked her face in and threw in her a duck pond. But, oh dear – some kind, considerate person had already _done _that, hadn't they?

"What?" inquired the boy, wishing he knew who that person was so he could give them a big basket of fruit and a thank you note for doing such a good job. Or, alternatively, a knife to the stomach and a few choice swear words.

Out of both options, it was safe to say Roxas preferred the second.

"Don't take this the wrong way but, um…" the girl muttered, unravelling the hem of her dress again – pick, pick, pick like a demented beaver. "Don't you think Rikku's going to get worried if you're home so late?"

Roxas sighed exasperatedly, lungs deflating slowly as they was freed of oxygen.

It wasn't like he himself hadn't realised this little hindrance, he'd just tried not to think about it. A childish way of dealing with problems, he knew, but often also the easiest and most efficient.

"I don't want to go back home," he replied, voice monotone as he stared down at his trainers; black and white things, fairly fashionable, checkered down the sides and... Hmn, how strange. The laces were _pink_. No doubt one of Sora's feebler practical jokes, reminders of a happier time when Sora had still been able to initiate said practical jokes.

_Hmn… I wonder how long they've been like that. A few weeks?_

"Why not?" Naminé inquired, voice dancing tentatively through the breeze like a fallen leaf. A fallen leaf that Roxas was getting ready to crush under the heels of his nifty, pink-laced trainers; a fallen leaf he was going to grind it into the dirt with a few choice words and phrases, cleverly emphasised so the blonde girl would just let the bloody conversation _go_.

"Because I can't go home when I don't know who killed you, Nami."

Naminé opened her mouth, the word "But-" barely having a chance to escape from her parted lips before she was cut off, drowned by the blond boy's newest rant.

"I just can't, OK? There are no 'buts' or 'whats' or 'ifs' about it. I can't go home thinking there's even a _one percent_ possibility it could've been me. How could I listen to my own mother crying about Sora and comfort her when, at the back of my mind, I'd be wondering if I was the one who did it? How could I go to school tomorrow with Fuu accusing me without an excuse or alibi or something to prove my innocence? How could I live my life with the thought that _I_ might have killed you always at the back of my mind, eating away like a maggot, day by day? I _couldn't_, I'd go crazy. I need to find out what happened and I need to find out **now**!" Roxas' face contorted, hands fisting in his hair, pulling agitatedly at his blond spikes. "_Why can't I remember, damnit?!_"

"Roxas, please, think logically," Naminé pleaded, attempting to anchor him to the pavement via means of one of her arms. It was all in vain, however; Roxas simply phased through one side and out the other, his pacing growing ever more frantic.

"OK, thinking logically. Thinking logically. Let's say it was _Riku_ who killed you. Well, me and Sora went to check up on you guys, so surely we would've find the body. So, afraid we would run back and tell the others, Riku killed Sora too and then committed suicide. But that makes no sense because your corpse is rotting in the duck pond and Riku's body was found in the house. Why would he hide your body, return to the house and _then _throw himself down a flight of stairs? And, if that were the case, surely he'd have killed me as well as Sora. So that's out. And then there's Sora, but… Well, he has the mental capacity of a grapefruit. The chances of him orchestrating a mass murder are slim to none. Besides, he's not a killer. He cried for weeks on end when Vivi died…"

"Vivi?" prompted Naminé, tracing strange shapes on the pavement with the tip of her sandal'd foot.

"His ferret. Ex ferret, as it were."

"Oh."

"Precisely. So that rules Sora out. And obviously it wasn't Kairi or Raii, they were in the living room the whole time. I suppose it _might_ have been Fuu. If she's the killer it's a possibility she was attempting to shift the blame onto me before anybody caught on, but no… No, that's far too obvious. Besides, she was with the others the whole time. Axel or Sally, perhaps – they're both pretty psycho, but then why would they kill Kairi's friends? Then again, why would _I_ kill Kairi's friends? Why would _I_ kill you? It just doesn't make any _sense_, damnit! This would be so much easier if Riku or Sora weren't dead, then I'd have somebody to talk to. Hell, this would be so much easier if I could just _fucking_ remember! I need to remember! Fuck it, why can't you remember, Naminé?"

"Roxas?"

"You know who did it, don't you?" the boy snarled, turning to glare daggers at the dishevelled slip of a girl. Standing beneath a glaring yellow streetlamp, her skin looked paler than normal, blue eyes rheumy, hands clenching and unclenching at the bottom of her dress.

She looked faded. Worn. Broken. _Dead_.

"R-Roxas?" she asked once more, head lolling like a heavy paperweight. As if for protection, she brought her spindly arms about her middle, holding tightly; a little _too _tightly. She looked like she was going to snap.

"You know who did it – of _course _you do – but you won't tell me, right? You want me to figure it out for myself, you want to play these fucked up mind games and watch as I fall apart because I can't do it. I can't remember, I _can't_, and you just stand there looking so fucking _smug-_"

"Roxas! Roxas! Stop it, please!" Naminé cried, materialising before Roxas mid-rant, her arm outstretched, dazzlingly white palm halting him in his path.

Dazzlingly white palm splattered with blood; thick, red, heady blood, so much blood, too much blood…

Blood was just _murder_ to wash out of clothes.

Roxas' eyes widened as the blood swam about in his peripheral vision, burning an imprint behind his retinas like a tattoo. He blinked, attempting to dispel all the red, but it was no use; blood was just murder to wash out of your clothes, your skin and your _mind_.

Words died in his mouth, anger fading away to nothing but a dull feeling of emptiness. His breath was laboured, every inhale and exhale sharp and pained; his heart-beat was erratic as it thumped painfully into his brittle sparrow-like ribcage; his chest constricted and his throat was raw and his head was swimming and _everything_ hurt, _everything_.

He wasn't breaking down, was he?

Strange; and he'd always penned Naminé as the weak one.

The boy blinked, somewhat abashed; instantly his hand moved up to ruffle the back of his blond spikes into a further state of disarray. A sure sign he was slightly embarrassed about his outburst and was thinking of something to say.

Well, there was nothing _to_ say apart from; "…Sorry, Nami."

(A whole two minutes and _that_ was all he'd come up with.)

"It's OK, Roxas. It's OK. I'd be annoyed, too," Naminé said earnestly, scrabbling fingers back at the hem of her dress. It was quickly becoming a fixation, an obsession, an annoyance. Roxas' eye twitched. "But, just try thinking of it _this_ way. They've all gone to a better place, right? This world is corrupted; they're better off. Yeah?"

_They've gone to a… Better place?_

Roxas knew he should cast that phrase aside like a piece of trash, store it in some crevice of his brain filled with darkness and dust and cobwebs, squish it beneath his pink-laced trainers and never think of it again. But, for inexplicable reasons, it snagged like a briar, painfully insistent.

The phrase resounded in his mind again and again, seeming to double in significance each time; _better place, better place, better place…_

"I've heard that somewhere before…" And here Roxas' eyes widened, realisation dawning at last; one little, insignificant factor that set off a spark of knowing, a chain reaction that sent all the pieces tumbling to the floor like dominoes.

_They've gone to a better place._

Why did that sound so familiar…?

* * *

"_Hi," Roxas grinned, plopping himself down on the uncomfortable wooden slats of the bench. The girl budged to the side in response, allowing him more room to spread out. "My name's Roxas 'nd I'm four years old. What's your name?"_

"_Alice. Alice Pleasance Liddell."_

* * *

"_Mom, mom!" little four-year-old Roxas cried, arms curling around his mother's leg, scrabbling fingers fisting at the bottom of her denim miniskirt. "Mom, what happened to Alice?!"_

_Rikku froze, the blender still whirring in the background, forgotten. Her fingers shook slightly as she reached to turn it off at the plug, never mind the fact her smoothie was not that smooth at all, mutilated strawberries and half-mashed chunks of apple bobbing around in a thick, crimson juice._

"_Mom?" Roxas asked, lip quivering slightly._

_He couldn't understand why she wasn't replying instantly, a large smile on her face as she explained things in length in that special, grown-up way all adults did. He couldn't understand why she wasn't sitting him at the kitchen table with a few cookies and a cup of home made smoothie, telling him everything would be better in the morning. He couldn't understand what had happened to Alice. He couldn't understand…_

"_Mom… What happened to Alice?" he asked again, voice softer, blue eyes staring down at the cold, lino floor._

_He was sure Rikku knew – Rikku knew _everything_, even how to brush Sora's hair so it actually lay flat. Rikku was his _mom_. Moms knew everything, right? Right?_

"_Roxas…" the blonde woman sighed as though she were in physical pain, kneeling down so her lime green eyes bore straight into her son's. After much deliberation she took Roxas' shoulders gently in her hands (as gently as she could manage, given the fact she was still shaking), manicured nails digging slightly through his T-shirt, into his skin. Roxas bit his lip._

"_Mom?"_

"_Roxas, Alice is…" A pause, a sigh. "Alice is _resting_, Roxas."_

"_At the bottom of the duck pond?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So she's just asleep?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Does that mean she can over and play with me again sometime?"_

"_No, Roxas," Rikku's eyes strained to the heavens, crossing slightly so the beige ceiling became blurred like an impressionist painting. "Alice is going to sleep and sleep and sleep and she won't wake up. Not ever. You see… I guess she's gone to a better place."_

"_A better place?" Roxas screwed up his face, trying to puzzle it out. Did that mean there was a better place at the bottom of the duck pond? But if the place was so good, _why_ had she looked so _scared_ when she tripped and fell in, arms floundering, eyes open, mouth screaming and screaming for help that wouldn't come even when her lungs filled with water and she started to sink?_

_Alice sank like a piece of bread._

"_Yes, Roxas. Alice has gone to a better a place. A lovely place, where you don't feel any pain or hurt or unhappiness; a happy place."_

"_Was Alice unhappy, then?"_

"_Yes, I suppose she was."_

"_But she's happy now, right?"_

"_Yes. A lot happier."_

"_And that's it?"_

"_That's it," Rikku affirmed, nodding her head. Gracefully, she withdrew her orange tic-tac painted nails and got to her feet, heeled shoes clunking on the floor as she turned a neat one hundred and eighty degrees to the kitchen counter. "So, Roxie – do you want a smoothie?"_

_Roxas smiled and nodded and accepted his drink in a plastic cup, trying not to let Rikku notice when he choked on a piece of fruit and started to cry._

* * *

_Almost half a year later, Roxas became five and started primary school. It was also, coincidentally, the time he met..._

"_My name's Roxas, what's yours?"_

"_Naminé Snow."_

"_Oh. That's strange," Roxas laughed, prodding his green plastic pencil case emblazoned with cartoon dinosaurs – Rikku helped him choose it yesterday._

"_What's strange?" the little blonde girl asked, bitten fingernails in her lap, hair tossed over one shoulder, feet swinging back and forth, back and forth; she was so small and delicate they didn't even brush the floor._

"_I dunno. You just look more like an Alice."_

* * *

**a.n: yay. another chapter. confused now? :D**


	12. memory runs the course of time

**chapter twelve  
**_memory runs the course of time_

* * *

Roxas had been in many a painful situation before. It wasn't like he was a magnet for trouble, either; unlike a choice handful of blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girls who shall remain nameless.

Rather, it was merely the fact that he had the gargantuan misfortunes of being a teenager and going to high school, two very problematic moments of one's life that tend to go hand-in-hand with each other unless, like five percent of the nation, you happened to be home schooled or a teacher.

Being a teenager can be the epitome of misery for several reasons (puberty, greasy hair, zits, mood swings, girlfriends/boyfriends – or lack of thereof) but going to high school is often a million times _worse_ because at least at home, sat in the sanctuary of _your_ bedroom with your iPod plugged in and magazine in your lap, nobody can bully you about any of these things – unless, of course, your parents are particularly cruel and sadistic.

Roxas had never been bullied at high school, mainly because many revered him as 'too damn scary'. One of his infamous scowls and crossed-arm combinations could send a six foot two school bully called Butch running for miles to the nearest church.

And yet, despite the fact he'd pretty much been left to his own devices (excluding the occasional unwelcome visit from his brother or, in some cases, Seifer), Roxas still found high school to be a very miserable experience.

It was like bad weather; an inescapable part of life. For the most part, you just had to sit and wait it out (or, if you got tired of waiting, slit your wrists in the bathtub and be done with it). Despite the fact the second option had seemed rather tempting from time to like – like Pandora and her box – Roxas refused to be swayed (unlike Pandora and her box).

Instead, he just put up his umbrella and tried to deflect any human contact. It was a shield of apathy, a dull face, bored exterior, empty eyes, one-word answers, and it kept the idiot masses away.

But, even though Roxas never had to talk to the idiot masses himself, he still had to _listen_ to them; "OMG did u liek see dat gurls owtfit?!" and "So I drank six shots of vodka at a party last night and puked my guts out – it was hardcore" and "Did you hear that Demyx and Sally are going out?" and, always the worst one, "LAWLZ GUESS WHAT (meaning 'who') I DID LAST NIGHT?!".

It was painful, painful, _painful_, and sometimes Roxas had to plug his ears when walking down the corridors for fear of going mental and gnawing his own arm off. Stupidity might be catching – one could never be too careful.

And then beyond the general idiocy of the student body there was the learning and the homework and the essays and the detentions and the rules against chewing gum in class and the irritable teachers who got pissed off when you called them hags (or words to that effect, anyway).

In fact, Naminé had seemed like the only ray of light in Roxas' otherwise monotonous life - an angel who seemed to exude warmth and happiness, a pretty smile always painted on her lips, blue eyes always sparkling; she breathed life into Roxas and made him into something more than the shell of a boy he acted around others.

And then Naminé died.

And Roxas did not.

And that was the end of that.

So yes, Roxas had been in many, many, _many_ uncomfortable situations before in his short little life, but every single one of them paled in comparison to the newfound problems that were arising.

To summarise, he had never been in a situation _quite_ as uncomfortable as this one before.

_Alice, hmn?_

It was oh-so strange and _hideously_ complicated, and the poor child had to put his hands to his ears to block out any outside noise (of which there was very little), for he feared the smallest thing could trigger a self destructive chain reaction that would not end very prettily at all. In fact, if the button marked 'detonate' did happen to be pushed, he could only guess he'd end up on the floor in about fifty different pieces, liberally covered in a substance that bore a striking resemblance to ketchup.

"_Alice? That's a pretty name."_

"_Thanks." And she beamed, oh how she beamed._

His head hurt. His head hurt so much; bits and pieces of assorted memory whirling through his brain, all of them screaming, shouting, yelling 'pick me! Pick me!' and Roxas didn't know to do, didn't know what to think or what to trust and Naminé was just _stood there _like a statue – like a stone angel that marked graves, once pretty but now vandalised beyond repair by rock-throwing youths – and… And…

* * *

_And she smiled, and it was a smile _just _like hers as she said, "__So, Roxas. Do you wanna be my friend?"_

_Eyes inquisitive, hair flipped over one shoulder, meticulously daubing paint just as the teacher had instructed. If the artwork was good enough, she might even put it on the wall! Naturally, the creative girl was trying very hard to receive such a privilege. _

"_You really do look like an Alice…" the boy had replied, doodling animal shapes and racing cars half-heartedly. _

"_But…?"_

"_But I think I like Naminés more." _

* * *

"There was another girl," Roxas declared rather suddenly. With that proclamation his heart was pounding nineteen to the dozen in his chest, seeming to splinter his ribs quite painfully, gasping for air like a fish out of water, one hand to his stomach and one to his head as he tried to shake away the headache and the nausea.

He thought it was called an epiphany; a sudden insight into reality or the essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely or commonplace occurrence or experience.

My oh my, his English teacher would be so _proud _of him.

"I'm sorry… What other girl?" asked Naminé, ever curious (curiosity killed the cat, although in this case it never got a chance), floating alongside the boy in a hazy, sort-of-here-sort-of-there cloud of doubt and despair.

It was a bit like being afflicted with your own personal rain cloud.

"Another girl besides you, another girl _before _you, a girl I was friends with. Alice. Alice…" he repeated her name, voice stronger the second time, words accompanied with a nod of the head to further cement the facts.

There had been an Alice. There **had**.

Even as he spoke about her now, relaying facts and figures in an eager voice, almost childlike - fuelled with a desire to solve the puzzle before him (so if _this _piece went _there_ and that piece went there) - the details were getting clearer and clearer.

"She had blonde hair and blue eyes – I _think _she had blue eyes. Or was it green? But I know that she looked like you. A lot like you, actually; maybe that's why I got you two confused as the same person. I was only a child. And I didn't know her very long… But falling into lake… It's a traumatic thing for a kid to deal with. Maybe I couldn't deal with it. That's why I repressed the memories. That's why… Why I got them mixed up and thought she was you…" Roxas' voice trailed off, crazed ramblings lost to the wind.

The black and white street stretched out before his wide blue eyes in dull monochrome colours, painted with an air of mystery that only night-time brings. It didn't even look real anymore, more like a half thought out fantasy with bits and pieces missing, all blurred at the edges and ever so slightly illusory.

A vast empire built up of gum-splattered concrete and harsh slate roofs and bleary-eyed houses, patches of artificial light guttering on and off from graffiti'd lampposts and litter swirling about underfoot as faux autumn leaves (but definitely not as pretty. Crumpled chip packets and candy wrappers could never hope to compete).

The air was cold – too cold – and Roxas hugged himself round the middle in order to generate more body heat, mouth issuing forth small whimpers as his eyes fixed on random points in the far-off distance.

All pacing had stopped in wake of this sudden enlightenment – Alice was real – and he found his teeth nibbling at his lower lip, abstract reality pressing in all corners, smothering. Thought flickered on and off idly like a burning candle, a dying ember, and he had to hug himself just a little bit tighter and pinch his frozen skin in an attempt to focus, focus, _focus_.

So Alice was real.

But somebody had still killed Naminé.

Naminé was still _dead_.

This didn't change a thing.

Naminé was all but immune to the cold now, even in her flimsy white (red) dress, perched neatly atop a brick wall – colours leaking into one-another under the backdrop of starry night skies – with her legs crossed, head cradled in her hands, barely bothering to breathe for fear of breaking the porcelain chains of Roxas' thought… Maybe for fear he'd shout at her again.

It wasn't like breathing was a necessity for her anymore, anyway.

Even so, Roxas couldn't help but be disturbed by the listlessness the girl was showing, all hunched up in a huddle of stick-thin bones, brittle and birdlike, skin papery, strawberry splattered, see-through. She was wasting away, eaten from within, almost maggot-ridden.

A foolish thought, unbidden, slowly wormed its unwelcome way into the boy's mind.

_What if she's dead?_

Stupid thing to think really, considering all that blood and gore. How could she possibly be alive?

But she _had_ been alive – to Roxas, anyway – and he didn't want to lose her, not now while he was so close (so damn close) to solving jigsaw. Just one more piece was required; one more memory that still eluded his out-stretched fingertips. Just one more…

"Naminé…" Roxas said shakily, relived to see her look up slowly in a lackadaisical manner, slightly awkward in her movements like a marionette with severed strings.

"Yes, Roxas?"

"Nothing. I just… I was just worried you were… You know… Dead."

Naminé grinned, one bony finger moving upwards to stab at her empty socket with more violence than perhaps she had intended. The smile did not fade, though. "I _am _dead – bit too late to worry about that now, huh?" She giggled weakly, voice barely audible through the surrounding silence. "You say the funniest things sometimes."

Roxas frowned. Still biting his lip, he noted with some mild disgust. What was he, _three_? "I don't think it was very funny."

"No…" Naminé sighed, idly plaiting a few choice handfuls of hair. However, her limbs seemed lethargic, unable to move without cracking exposed bone and faltering around coils of hair. Eventually she just gave up in disgust, arms folding slowly. "I don't suppose I found it very funny either…"

"Oh, that's right. You got murdered and you don't 'suppose' you thought it was epitome of hilarity?" the boy rolled his eyes, looking up at Naminé from her vantage point on the wall. "I'm not the one who says stupid things."

"Eh, we're friends. Great minds think alike. I suppose it works in reverse too; idiots think alike too, hmn?"

There was a pause, during which Roxas continued to huddle into himself as though trying to fade from existence, escape reality, escape the world (and the ghosts that inhabited it).

Maybe if he closed his eyes tight enough he'd chance upon a rabbit hole. A strange landmark of fascination, an object of wonderment that would prompt him to look inside - to take a tumble - and end up safe and warm in some unconscious dream where everything was as it _should _be but, inexplicably, wasn't. The world he lived in now wasn't, **wasn't**, **wasn't** for some many reasons. It wasn't right, wasn't just, wasn't _fair_ (and Naminé wasn't breathing).

Maybe being dead was better than being alive in some aspects because while living you could still feel pain and hurt and despair…

And Roxas felt despair now, just the vague inklings of emotion as he stared at his friend. She was worn and tired and ready to go (should've gone _ages_ ago), and perhaps it was selfish (useless) to expect her to stay and hold his hand, almost as futile as clinging to smoke. She was still dead. But to Roxas, she wasn't.

She _couldn't _be.

"Naminé? Please don't go…"

"I wasn't planning to," she replied, swiftly ducking behind her hair. And then… "The moon looks pretty tonight…" A sing-song lilt, voice unsteady like her shaking fingers and swinging legs, soundless in the crisp night air.

And, even though Roxas wasn't entirely sure, he could swear he saw her frown.

_She'll only be going to a better place…_

_A better place…_

And the final piece of the jigsaw fell into position.

* * *

**a.n: alice's death is actually very significant to the story, even though it doesn't seem so atm. um, the bit about epiphanies reminded me of the song 'epiphany' by bowling for soup where they go 'i think they call it an epiphany… and that's a big word' xD lamatikah lakks that song. & before i forget, i made a trailer for this fic when i got bored & put it on youtube :D the link is; h t t p : / / w w w . y o u t u b e . c o m /watch?v4qWnab7gxe8 (remove spaces). hehe, it's sort of not very good and doesn't show what the story's about, but whatever.**


	13. sometimes the beauty starts to die

**chapter thirteen  
**_sometimes the beauty starts to die_

* * *

Memory was a strange thing.

Faces and figures blurred in a vast catalyst of time, lapsing into dreams and subconscious thought, fading from existence, soon to die; waiting patiently for the day when they would be brought to the forefront of your mind once more, waiting patiently for the day when they would later be discarded.

Memory was not a neat a neat and orderly affair, pretty chains of silver binding everything together. Memory was _not _something to be placed in lines, either; colour-coded, meticulously labelled, stacked in alphabetical order. It didn't work that way – never had and never would.

Memory was something wild and unpredictable, could never be comparable to a lending library (even one with a few books missing here and there, a gap in a shelf or two) because human minds were complex.

Human minds were disorders and disabilities and problems, _problems_, _problems_; pretty names that were nay unintelligible to beings of low intelligence.

Even beings of above average intelligence.

Human minds were incredible, amazing, unbelievable, and any other word in a thesaurus you can possibly imagine that are listed in neat, black and white print under suchlike headings.

But above all else, human minds were _scary_.

Most people thought that, all united with their bad poetry and occasional angsting, a few tears and here and there for the fear that, one day – perhaps one day soon – their brains would just stop working altogether. Blink out like a light bulb, to coin one of Kairi's common phrases.

It was a simile she had begun to associate with her grandmother and one that frequently reoccurred in her stories about said grandmother.

The _mad_ grandmother.

The one in the asylum.

_That _grandmother.

(Sometimes Roxas couldn't help but think insanity was hereditary in the Panettiere family. Axel and Sally were completely _psycho _already. Then again, that could have been general teenager-ness speaking, not multiple personality disorders and a brick on the head at birth.)

"Her mind… I dunno what happened, but it just… It just _stopped working_," Kairi would say to Fuu and Selphie, hand gestures a-plenty as she relayed her tragic tales. "Sort of like a light bulb going out, you know?"

Roxas, however, wasn't like most people. Wasn't right, wasn't normal, wasn't… Almost wasn't _human_, in some respects, for his façade of apathy ran deeper than one-word answers (yes and no) and blank faces (sheets of paper).

His normal demeanour which, once upon a time, had been merely an act of self defence, began to burrow under his skin, into his blood; tainting. And yet it dug deeper (and deeper) still, veins becoming wires and heart freezing over like that of a fairytale witch's – a dull weight that _ached _so much; completely pointless, completely heartless.

Intrinsic maggots fed on hate and loathing, nurtured on idle musings, hatred of humanity (because the world is _rotting_, you know - the people and the places, all of, _rotting_. Maybe already rotten) until he became so _hollow _and _empty_, until-

-until he was beyond saving.

Naminé hadn't saved him.

Naminé hadn't even been able to save herself.

* * *

He was not a person one would associate with the word 'shy'.

_Hell_, he never spoke to anybody enough to exhibit such qualities. There was no stuttering, biting of nails or glancing around nervously – never had been, never would be.

He was anti-social, maybe, but _shy_? The boy had no qualms about the notion of voicing his opinions if they were ever called for - even if the truth _did _hurt (and the truth from Roxas' mouth perhaps doubly so).

Funny that his input had never been required, though.

He was careful like that, always keeping his distance; holding everyone at arms length even when engaged in conversation. People were oftentimes too uneasy to query his beliefs, and he obtained no peace of mind from enlightening them.

So let them stumble and tip-toe around the subject, pathetic and doe-eyed as they were; Roxas considered himself above such foolish things.

Which would probably explain why he felt mildly disgusted with himself as he stood at Kairi's doorstep, waiting.

All the while his fingers were unintentionally burrowing into the sanctuary of his pockets like worms and his wide-eyed stare was one akin to that of a bunny's in the headlights. Such was the suspicion in his gaze that it looked as if he were expecting to be attacked at gun-point; unwittingly, his fingers mashed together into fists.

However, his idea would not have seemed so ridiculous if one had seen the state the state of the yard he was stood in. Messy and disorganised, flowers strewn here and there with a few bedraggled weeds thrown in for variation, the slapdash paintwork job on the door peeling and flaking and the unmistakable stench of something burning – something _dying_, almost like a pet cemetery – that clung obstinately to everything in the immediate area.

If mass murderers ever did decide to hold annual meetings, Kairi's front garden would have been an excellent choice of location. It just held the right sort of ambience, especially when coupled with a starry night sky and cold, wintry weather.

_God, this place really is a dump…_ he thought idly, too wrapped up in his worries to notice the door opening. Or, if he had heard the door opening, he was doing a good impression of somebody who hadn't.

In his defence, who knew what hideously warped chimeras lurked beyond those sludge-coloured walls? What sort of _decent _human being would allow their garden to become something that was only negotiable via use of a machete? Rather, the picture of a dainty spider web to the left-hand corner of his vision was much more enthralling.

Damn, he really was being pathetic now.

"Roxas?"

An upward infliction, obvious surprise, definitely female (no self respecting male would ever let their voice become comparable to tinkling bells).

It was only Kairi.

_Well, what were you expecting? _Inner-Roxas sniggered sarcastically, as outer-Roxas averted his eyes from the spider web – the one Kairi was now destroying with a swipe of her talons and a mutter of "disgusting". A shame, really, for some poor arachnid was going to be minus a home tonight; a crying shame, no less.

But Roxas didn't cry.

Red hair (ketchup and strawberries), violet-blue eyes and a teasing smirk to set off the whole look. Yeup, that was Kairi alright – tip to toe, head to foot, no other way of looking at it.

Definitely not the Grim Reaper, then.

(Although… Perhaps it would still be fair game to class her as a 'fate worse than death'. Roxas didn't like that Cheshire cat grin that was currently making up forty percent of her face; pretty eyes and snub noses paling in comparison. It was hard to think of somebody as attractive when they shamelessly wore the look of a hungry lioness ready to pounce on a zebra. However, in Kairi's case sharp teeth would be substituted with sharp words.)

"I thought you said you didn't wanna come," the girl said in a sing-song voice, dancing lilt easily comparable to wind chimes; flimsy pieces of metal similar to the ones Rikku had hung up all those years ago.

"They're good feng shui," she had explained, tongue sticking out as she attempted to string them up in neat lines; meticulous in her actions.

Too bad Roxas and Sora had knocked them all down while playing blitzball. Then again, life wasn't fair – never had been, never would be.

And, speaking of flimsy things, Roxas couldn't help but note there were still pieces of spider web clinging to the tips of Kairi's carefully filed nails.

"I distinctly remember you saying, and I quote, 'I am not going to that fucking party, not if that _asshole_ Sora is going. And Riku, don't even get me started on that dickhe-"

"Kairi."

"Hmn?"

"Please shut up."

"Oh my!" the red-head giggled, "Somebody's in a bad mood today. Why ever so, love?" And her eyes were wide, comically so, idly bouncing back and forth on the balls of her trainer-clad feet.

The spitting image of innocence and all that jazz.

Roxas bit his tongue, any number of insults jamming against the roof of his mouth before they could escape. Words were tricky; once said, you could never _un_say them, and life did not come with a back button.

Intense pain was good for kerbing unnecessary anger. The short, sharp agony often made the boy pause and reconsider his plans; mind wiped clean, one could then finally focus on the best ways to counter any such dilemmas (and rage was hardly ever the correct answer, at any rate).

It was a tactical thing, really.

"I just wanted to see how Naminé was," Roxas stated, nailing Kairi between the eyes with a blank stare.

Kairi, completely oblivious, kept right on bouncing.

"I suppose I'll just go back home now – Algebra problems and all," Roxas shrugged, eyes sweeping around the yard once more in a farewell gesture and - _what the hell? _He stopped, sky blue optics snagged on a rather unusual sight, head tilted slightly. _Was that an abandoned bathtub?_

Knowing Kairi's family, yes – it probably was.

_Whatever_.

Bathtub or no, the boy had already pivoted around on the spot and was making his catious way through her 'garden', side-stepping over numerous cracks in the pavement; gate nearing his line of vision, the boy could have been back home in ten minutes.

Apart from…

"No. Don't go." Kairi commanded, full stop at the end painfully obvious; Roxas couldn't help but pause at her words. It was odd that such a small, dainty girl could be such an authoritarian.

_Am I being sexist in thinking that? Rikku would be ashamed…_

"God, Kairi, you're such a dictator," the boy snorted; lazily, his eyes flickered between Kairi, to the gate, to Kairi once more – hands pinned to her hips, exuding an air of unabashed confidence that shook the boy up a little.

Maybe he'd met his match at the stubborn stakes.

"Yep, that's me. Don't be fooled; beyond the innocent schoolgirl act beats a heart of ice," Kairi grinned. "Anyways, why don't you come inside? Naminé misses you - it's sort of like she loses half her personality whenever you're not around. It's cute. _Really_ sickening, mind, but cute."

Roxas snorted, brain automatically wracking up excuses and alibis; he was sorry but he _couldn't_, he had too much homework, he'd promised Rikku he'd be home soon, he didn't feel like seeing Sora, if he stayed out past midnight he'd turn into a pumpkin, parties weren't his cup of tea but thank you ever so much…

And then, quite unbidden, a _new_ train of thought crept into his skull. And, within seconds, said train had instantly derailed all others.

The collision was quite spectacular, actually.

Surely whatever awaited the boy at Kairi's party was more interesting than his original plans for the evening – Algebra homework, a handful of cookies and some Mindless Self Indulgence. Set on full volume, of course.

And he couldn't just forget the day after - the one where Sora would undoubtedly sit at the breakfast table with bags under his eyes and, regardless of fatigue, boast about his evening to anything with ears.

Roxas could hear the dozy brunet now, spoon of cereal in hand, dribbling milk onto his school shirt; "Oh, it was _amazing_, Roxas! Me'n the others watched all these horror films – you'd prolly have liked them – and it was _such _a shame you couldn't come, Nami really missed you. And guess what, guess what!" Cue arms flailing, bowls and glasses on table shuddering. "Seifer was like _sooo _totally hitting on her; I don't think she liked it, but it was sorta funny you know, and then _Riku _was like "what are you doi – oops! Awww, _crap_."

And then Sora would promptly knock over his cup of coffee and scald himself.

Roxas' eye twitched slightly, fingers massaging his scalp, not liking that mental image – not one bit; Naminé and Seifer, Seifer and Naminé.

No. No, no, no, no, that would _not _do at all.

Perhaps there was some merit in attending the party after all…

* * *

Roxas wasn't like normal people and, as such, his memories did not affect him as they affected others. For you see, Roxas wasn't afraid – not one bit of it.

He was fucking terrified.

* * *

**a.n: i was going to explain things this chapter, i really was. promise. i just got caught up in the dialogue xD and now we're into roxas' memories; remembering what he remembers and other such shizz. i just don't feel comfy with putting italics on such a large amount of writing; it's neater this way. this chapter was light-heated, lawlz.**


	14. her face is broken and sore

**chapter fourteen  
**_her face is broken and sore  
_**  
**

* * *

They were watching the movie on full volume.

Roxas couldn't truthfully say he was surprised at the sudden revelation. Kairi's house was ramshackle at best, a complete dump at worst, and such a place was not suited for empty rooms and perfect, porcelain silence.

The house was _not_ perfect, and it did not matter if you looked at it from the point of view of an optimist or a pessimist; either way it was still messy, unorganised and absolutely _everything_ that gave Roxas a bad headache.

Roxas liked things to be neat and orderly just like _so_. His clothes were aligned _perfectly_ in order of colour, books going up in numerical order, DVDs and CDs divided and arranged and stacked into neat piles; name, artist and release date. It was just how Roxas _was_, meticulous in all his actions because everything had to be perfect. If you did something, why not do it to the best of your abilities? Why not try to do it _better_ than your abilities?

That constant need for unchanging variables – in Roxas' mind _everything_ had to be _exactly _the same, patterns playing a great part in his lifestyle – was one of the reasons why Roxas abhorred Sora so.

His room was just like Kairi's house.

Rumpled clothes and grime-covered plates were a constant fixture, almost as unchanging as the Earth's set course to rotate around the Sun. School books lay open on every available surface like white butterflies, homework papers kicked haphazardly under the bed, the covers of which usually crumpled up on the floor, oozing last night's pyjamas like pus from a ruptured boil.

No, it was _not _a nice simile, but Sora's room was _not _a nice place, constantly haunted by the aroma of socks and pizza trimmings.

Sora's room was noisy, too. The brunet was rather good and multi-tasking - although his self-assured confidence was the one thing that usually led to his failings - and could often be found sat in his swivel chair on the phone to Riku or Kairi, favourite CD playing full-blast in the background and a fantasy RPG of some sort shining on his television screen.

Roxas' black-and-white room, on the other hand, was quiet and subdued, much like the owner. Roxas' bedroom was reserved for its main purpose, as suggested in the title.

Sleeping.

Unless Roxas spoke in his sleep, which he doubted very much, he couldn't imagine saying more than two words one he crossed the threshold. There was just no necessity for such things, for after school he was _through _with being Roxas. He was much happier left to his own devices, left by himself so he could just be. Be quiet, be silent, be _abnormal_. Be whatever the hell he wanted (but usually it wasn't Roxas).

Unlike most people, Roxas did not need constant company from humans to stimulate him. He much preferred to sit in his painstakingly tidy bedroom and bask in silence, perfect silence broken only by his trains of thought.

Roxas liked everything to be perfect.

Maybe that was why, deep down, he hated socialising. Hated it because people were _many _things – shy or funny or cruel or emotional – but perfect was not one of them. Humans were never perfect.

The faults and failures of a rotting society glared at Roxas with golden eyes like the monsters under the bed, only these monsters were _much _more scary because they real and they were human and they were reported on the news every day.

Rape. Drugs. Assault. Torture. _Murder_.

Humans were capable of all those things.

_Every _human was capable of all those things.

Nobody was perfect.

Kairi's house was a far cry from such a thing, and the people in it even more so. There was Sora, sat on the sofa with large blue eyes fixated on the screen – a wince because the blonde, bitchy prom queen's head just got hacked off (although she probably deserved it). There was Kairi, perched precariously on Sora's lap, grinning a tad at the look of disgust on her friend's face (but it was only make-believe). There was Fuu and there was Rai, both of them in separate chairs, both staring with wide eyes (but the blood wasn't _real_). There was Riku on Sora's left, head on the armrest and eyes straying across the room now and again to Naminé (but Naminé was _Roxas'_ friend).

Roxas liked Naminé for reasons he himself could not fathom. He concluded that the human mind was deep and murky, much like a lake, and facts were never _lost_. They were hidden, is all, sleeping under the water.

Roxas didn't like water that much, for the simple fact that it could hide things so easily. Roxas didn't like things to be hidden; he liked to know everything – _everything_. It made him feel almost superior, and that was a feeling he liked.

And he really _did_ like Naminé, too, despite his general aversion to humanity.

They were friends, almost inseparable. Ever since primary school. Maybe even before then (with her dainty feet that never quite brushed the floor).

Perfection was hard to come by, and it was strangely ironic that it happened to be in Kairi's house. Sat on the floor, picking at a threadbare carpet with an ugly pattern, white dress – her pretty white dress – and lily skin, blonde hair arranged artfully round her face like a shroud. She had blue eyes; eyes that sparkled like stained glass, cut diamonds, something to wax poetic over.

She seemed so distant from the others, what with her withdrawn nature and coloured crayons. She liked to draw, used it as a manner of escapism, and Roxas found he liked that. It was routine, familiarity, a set pattern.

At school they would retire the far side of the field, the _peaceful _side where the soccer balls and screaming kids never ventured. The trees were tall and the air was crisp and the grass was dewy, and Naminé would draw and he would sit, contemplating, back-to-back.

Some sort of perfection, at any rate.

Naminé's body gave an involuntary shudder, fingers twitching – pick, pick, pick – as several more bodies went down, down, down – thunk - in a sea of cheap crimson blood and maniacal laughter, terrified screams-

-until they were silent and could scream no more.

Roxas found comforting words on the tip of his tongue, something surprising considering he did _not _comfort people. He never even _spoke _to people, save Naminé.

The words were there, all the same.

_Don't be scared, Naminé, it's just a film. Remember all the ones we watch together on Halloween? Fantasy. It's not real. And even if they were, don't you think the victims would welcome death after such ordeals? At least then all the worry and the pain is gone. On the contrary, their deaths shouldn't make you feel _sad._ They should make you feel _happy.

Roxas was always fairly straightforward about such things; real was real and movies were _not_, and that was all the reasoning he needed to comfort the girl. Unfortunately, somebody else got there first.

"You look sort of pale, Naminé," Riku said, voice laced with concern (and Roxas couldn't help but snort, because what did _Riku _know?). "Do you want to go out and get a drink or something?"

"Yes please," Naminé had replied meekly, getting to her feet. Shakily, she tossed a (broken) smile at Roxas before making her way to the door, Kairi not even bothering hit the 'pause' button on the remote, she was so enraptured in her film.

Roxas scowled at Riku as he passed, waiting for their return.

Waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and-

"Hey…" Fuu said quietly, eyes dancing around the room, ears straining for any sounds that might bleed from the hallway into the living room. "They're not back yet."

Kairi fluttered her thick lashes slowly as though something was stuck in them, looking down abashedly at the floor. "Oh yeah… That's strange…" she muttered, cheeks flushing a tad in the dull, blue glow emitted by the television. She was embarrassed because she'd been so engrossed in the film that she hadn't even noticed the absence of her two friends. "Do you think somebody should go check on them?"

"I'll go!" Sora offered cheerily enough, smile painted on his face. Obviously he possessed a desire for Kairi to see him as a princely figure; a brave knight who would stand steadfastly in the face of evil. "I don't mind missing the film-"

"Because you're a wuss and it scares you," Kairi snorted, completely waving aside all of Sora's chivalry. "But, ah," she corrected herself hastily, watching as the brunet's face fell, "it was very sweet of you to offer."

"Well _I'm _going too," Roxas replied, getting to his feet (a surprisingly hard feat considering he'd been sat with his legs crushed under his behind for about an hour). Slightly disoriented due to the pins and needles, the blond quickly steadied himself so as not to fall over like a drunkard. "I only came here to see Naminé, anyway. No offense, Kairi."

"None taken," the girl replied, voice fairly sunny for somebody who was ingesting grisly murder scenes like a child devours sour skittles; literally by the handful. "I suppose two heads are better than one, although – _ha, _it's not like you'll run into any mass murderers in my house. Worst thing would probably be a few rats."

"_Rats_?" Fuu asked incredulously, moving her shoeless feet up off the floor.

"Not wild rats, silly. Axel and Sally have some as pets. Sadism, Masochism, Fetishism and Voyeurism."

"Interesting names…" Fuu muttered, still peering dubiously at the floor as though thousands of phantom rodents lurked underneath the boards.

"My siblings are interesting people," Kairi shrugged, clutching a cushion to her middle.

Roxas had closed the door mid-way through their light-hearted banter, Rai making some sarcastic comment about phoning the cops if they weren't back within five minutes ("Ravaged by rats! Although with their names I can see some cause of concern," Kairi had giggled).

It was then that both boys made their way through the house, guided in the right direction via the sound of voices. Rather more like hushed whispers, although they sounded scathing and vitriolic.

A fight, then?

Definitely a fight, and presumably a messy one if the guilty party wanted nobody else to see. They – a male voice, low and monotone; a female voice, high pitched and panicky.

Riku and Naminé.

Riku and Naminé _arguing_.

"-_love you so much_."

"_But I _can't!"

"_Please, Nami-_"

"_You don't understand_!"

"_But I thought you liked me_-"

"_Don't touch me!_"

They were still watching the horror film on full volume – Kairi, Fuu and Rai. The sounds of bloody murder echoed throughout the house, playing on repeat all night long. Scream after scream after scream.

Screaming. Just like Riku.

* * *

**a.n: oooh. cliffhanger. more plot development. and yes, roxas really is more insane than i portrayed him in earlier chapters xD i think the end might actually be three chapters away now…? Not entirely sure. & i think it's sort of cool how axel & sally's rats are named after random pieces of paraphilia (strange girl as I am...)**


	15. it's so much better to pretend

**chapter fifteen  
**_it's so much better to pretend  
_**  
**

* * *

Naminé was shaking.

Her eyes were _wide_, almost to the point parting with their sockets. Her fingers _trembled_, clutching folds of her dress – her pretty white dress – with bitten nails flashing obscenely in the dim lighting. Her face was _ashen_, all colour draining from her bird-like features until she became little more than a doll.

Even Roxas, what with his general aversion to humanity, felt his mask of apathy crack slightly under the girl's panicked sobs. Never mind Riku, limbs twitching like spiders up and down drainpipes. Never mind Sora, mouth open and fingers twisted half-way down his throat. Roxas couldn't care less. The only thing his brain could register was Naminé.

She was hurting so much.

"I… I…" she whispered, choking on her words. Tears were shining in the corners of her eyes.

Surprisingly enough, it was Sora who took charge. Marshalling his thoughts to fit some sort of logic, he untwisted his fingers from his mouth and issued orders. "Naminé, stop crying. Roxas, tell the others-"

"No… Oh God, _please_, no!" the girl exclaimed, on the threshold of hysteria. She crumpled, threatening to fall off the top-most step into non-existence.

Roxas moved fast, taking the stairs two – _three_ - at a time to catch her before she fell, steadying her limp form against his chest. He sank down against the wall, Naminé's head buried against his shoulder. Slowly, his lips fell softly across her blonde hair, whispering things of comfort; "Shhh… It's alright-"

"But I… but I _killed_ him," Naminé sobbed, voice thick. "I… I… Oh God…"

"Shhh, baby – you didn't_ mean_ to. He might not even be dead."

"But he… And I…"

"Shhh."

Roxas instinctively pulled her closer, as a mother holds onto a newborn baby. She certainly seemed delicate enough, reverted straight back to toddler status. She almost _was_ a toddler, innocent and naïve of the world around her – poised on the brink, ready to fall down the stairs after Riku if she thought that would make it better.

(But of course, it wouldn't.)

Eventually Riku's sporadic twitching subsided, leaving him rigid at the bottom of the stairs. His right leg bent back at an impossible angle, arm crushed under the full weight of his body – broken in every sense of the word.

Everybody _knew_ what the ultimate verdict would be, even before Sora pressed his fingers against Riku's wrist. Even before Sora said, in tones of great despair, that he was, in fact, _dead_.

"Twisted his neck…" Sora whispered in disbelief, although his hushed tones were easily audible to the pair on the stairs.

"I suppose the shock couldn't have helped too much, either. Poor thing," Roxas said, voice detached. It was almost as if he were watching one his films again, and Riku wasn't _really _dead – rather, he was an actor on a screen and he'd sit up again in a few moments, right as rain. He just didn't _care_; in the face of such horror, he would only laugh and scorn. Naminé was the one who always hid behind the pillow. With no pillow to hide behind, she had to content herself with Roxas.

Her body began to shake, wracked with tremors from head to toe. A steady monologue poured from lips, flinching when Roxas shifted slightly. "I didn't _mean_ to, I didn't – I _didn't _I _didn't_ I _didn't_…" And her lower lip trembled once more as tears were pressed out her baby blues, lashes fluttering and clumping together. "I… I'm _so sorry_…"

"You don't need to be sorry, baby," Roxas whispered, inhaling the smell of her hair – green apples and endless despair. Yes, she even _smelt _of sorrow. It was something that clung on stubbornly like a second skin.

"I do… I… I _killed _him, I-"

"You didn't _mean _to," Roxas said, silencing Naminé's feeble protests.

Slowly, methodically, he placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. Their eyes locked – hers; tear-filled, his; vague and distant – and soon he wished they hadn't. Her general appearance was almost_ painful_; she looked like a human train wreck, mangled emotions laid bare for all to see.

"Stop crying." It was an order more than anything else.

Naminé blinked, eyelids falling half-shut at the words. Still, her fingers were shaking like dying butterflies.

She breathed, clenched her fists, muttered "okay…", voice trailing off into a l o n g, s l o w e x h a l e . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

(And her eyes were still wet.)

"Now," Roxas said, grazing his fingertips along the curve of Naminé's cheekbone. "What are we going to do? I wonder…"

It was at this point that Sora interjected, mouth which had been previously opening and closing finally finding coherent words within reach.

His stance was hunched, down on his knees, trembling fingers still pressed to Riku's wrist as though that would bring him back somehow. His voice, however, did not falter. Maybe he had been practising those words in his head for some time.

"We need to go and tell the others."

Naminé flinched, reverting back that childlike state where she would cry and cry and cry, muttering intelligibly between her tears. "_Please don't, please don't, oh God, please don't_!"

"Of course we won't," Roxas frowned, allowing her body to fall limp. Her head found safety against in the cavity between his head and shoulders once more, arms holding her steady so she didn't topple over. One death was enough. If Naminé was pushed, who knew what else would follow?

"Sora, how could you say such a thing? She's been through so much – surely you don't think she could have done it out of malice? He must have provoked her. Dear God, her life is already ruined – _she's_ ruined. Look, Sora," and here he tilted her head once more, the girl seeming to drown under her own tears. "You'd hurt her if you told the others. Do you want to hurt her? Do you want to kill her?"

Naminé sobbed brokenly into Roxas' side, eyes red-rimmed, muttering. For the sake of the others or for herself, it wasn't clear.

What _was_ clear, however, was that Roxas was angry.

Very angry.

"What we're going to do is this. We'll go outside – somewhere quiet, where the others can't hear us – and find out _everything_. Then we can decide what to do. But we're not going to hurt Naminé. Because if you do…" Roxas' eyes narrowed into little more than slits, "I'll _kill_ you. Understand?"

Everybody understood.

There was nothing else to do.

* * *

Kairi's garden was quickly proving to be no more attractive than it was the first time Roxas had stood there. Rather, it seemed even uglier; maybe the boy's judgement was clouded due to the defeated air Naminé was exuding. Now the breeze about them was not only scented with ash, but with despair.

It was _despair_ that had made all the flowers die in their uneven beds, the trees hunch and wither like old men, the paving slabs uproot themselves and scatter across the driveway. Roxas himself was rather despairing at the state of the garden; showers of soil and weeds and litter were absolutely _everywhere_.

Roxas stared at the sad sight and thought a little, bits and pieces of fantasy and fairytale. Maybe Kairi's parents _had _looked the garden, once upon a time. Although the flowers were dead, it did _have _flowers; Roxas imagined them being planted carefully, watered and fed and nurtured with love and care every single day.

So why wasn't anybody caring for them anymore...?

Left to rack and ruin, the plants had mutated quite horribly into pointy things that drew blood to touch. Such monsters towered over the other plants, suffocating, greedily drinking in their sunlight only to sprout _more_ shoots and grow anew; nothing would live there, _could _ever live there but pain and misery. Everything would die.

Funnily enough, Kairi never mentioned her parents…

Maybe the despair had killed the garden.

Maybe the despair had killed her parents.

And maybe, just maybe, the despair was going to kill Naminé.

As if reading his thoughts, the petite girl shuddered into Roxas' one-armed embrace, stubby fingernails falling against his T-Shirt. She was shivering, and that white slip mustn't have offered much heat, although Roxas guessed she could be wearing his jacket and it would make no difference. Not when he couldn't thaw her out from inside.

And, despite the occasion, Roxas felt a guilty pleasure at the self-assuring touches Naminé gave him, presumably to check that she was still solid and it wasn't just some horrible nightmare. It felt rather nice to be needed.

It felt rather nice to have absolute _control_.

_He_ would not succumb to despair, for despair was an emotion far out of his reach. Like a balloon with cut strings, it floated aimlessly above his head until he forgot it had ever existed in first place. Not for him, anyway.

Rather he would hold Naminé and tell her not to be scared because she was so weak (and so very _human_). She could feel hurt and she was hurting right now – hurting so very badly – and he wished he could offer her some sort of comfort beyond physical contact and meaningless words.

He wanted to make her smile again.

"So," Sora said after a delicate pause, he himself seeming aware of their melancholy surroundings. Idly, Roxas wondered if Sora had ever met Kairi's parents; he was around at her house often enough. Funny how he never asked – would never even get a _chance_ to ask (and it _was_ funny, really; such a bizarre situation one could not help but laugh at).

One second Sora had been there.

The next second he was not.

His eyes widened in shock, pain, disbelief, for the blood was already starting to run (it fell to the floor in garish puddles, the grass seeming to sup greedily at the thick liquid as though it had not been watered for weeks – _months_). His mouth was frozen in a little 'o' of surprise, expression of terror never quite faltering.

"Why…?"

It was a small word, not a sentence, barely even a question. Sora _knew_ why, just as he knew how. Kairi's house followed a very strange plan, after all, and one must pass through the kitchen to get outside; how easy had it been to just take a knife off the sideboard for precaution when nobody else was looking? Similarly, Sora also knew who, for who else would it be?

Maybe he just didn't have the strength left for something more coherent and witty; how sad that such last words were not incisive or inspirational. Rather, they were just _idiotic_.

"Because you were going to tell the others. You were going to hurt Naminé."

And it was really as simple as _that_.

Full stop.

Sora swayed a tad, eyes seeming too large for his face, before finally succumbing to blood loss – kitchen knife protruding from his ribs, he could do nothing but sink to his knees. He stirred once, twice…

And stopped moving altogether.

Roxas couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed with this turn of events. He didn't even _scream_, almost as if he accepted his death.

Riku fell down – broke his neck, poor thing – and Sora could only follow suit in his footsteps, for he'd always stood in the shadow of Riku – tried to outdo him, poor thing, poor thing.

"Poor thing," Roxas whispered, bloody fingers sliding through Naminé's hair, cupping her cheek, voice barely ghosting through the still night air; "poor thing, poor thing."

Naminé whimpered as streaks of carmine were painted slowly, deliberately, across her face; random shapes that held no meaning, hearts and the like. Sora was _dead_. It was amazing how much blood he held within him; the plants were doubtlessly happy, for the phrase 'poured my blood into it' had taken on a new, slightly more disturbing meaning.

Ah – irony.

Roxas grinned against Naminé's pretty yellow (red) hair and felt his arms wrap round her middle, snaring like a bed of thorns; just like Kairi's sad, sad garden.

"But don't worry, baby," he continued, voice hushed almost to the point of non-existence but _oh_-

oh, it existed alright, and every word sent Naminé's heart all aflutter.

"I'm going to protect you."

"Yes…" she agreed, voice dull and monotone; arms held limp at her sides like sticks of asparagus, just as useless. Such horror appeared to stain her face permanently pale under all that faux make-up, seeming distant like a ghost; drifting over her words, she was, as if not noticing they were her own. Maybe she wasn't even herself anymore – maybe she didn't _want_ to be herself. "You're going to protect me-

-

-

-

If you can catch me."

* * *

**a.n: shizz, roxas is one psycho nutcase. yay :D the bit about kairi's garden was fun to write – i love the description with that place xD anywho, i hope this wasn't too confusing. i sort of wanted riku & sora's deaths to be abrupt.**

**um, you'll find out exactly why riku died next chapter. cause it's sorta vague at the moment buu-uuu-ttt there IS a reason. srsly. oh, & you really should listen to 'whispers in the dark' by skillet, 'what if' by emilie autumn & 'apres moi' by regina spektr. the first becuz i think it fits this story, and the last two because they're pretty ;D**


	16. you swallowed your rejection well

**chapter sixteen  
**_you swallowed your rejection well_

* * *

_She was running, he was chasing – laughter glinted in his wicked eyes as he called, "I'm going to catch you!" And she merely giggled, tossing her hair over one shoulder – "Well if you're gonna catch me you better hurry up, you slowpoke!"_

_Spurred on this response, he started to pick up speed – joy painted across her face, she ducked around a tree trunk, ran along the top of a park-bench, feinted left and right in rapid succession… Her heart thumped and blood rushed to her head, in euphoria she cried out; "you're still too sloo-www!" And she stuck out her tongue, teasing and calling, blue skirts billowing about her matchstick legs._

"_We'll just see about that," Roxas replied, mustering up all the strength he could manage. Eyes narrowed and the unwelcome tang of nausea on the tip of his tongue, he sprinted forwards, riding on a sudden, precarious burst of speed and adrenaline._

_She blinked owlishly at his advancing figure and let a few more giggles slide past her rose-petal lips, ducking and moving backwards – "you'll never catch me, you'll nev- oh!"_

_And she slipped, falling backwards with fear painted across her face – arms flailing, mouth screaming, and all he could do was watch. She must've stumbled on a tree root or something, it wasn't his fault._

_That's what he liked to tell himself, anyway._

* * *

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Naminé's sandals clacked against the floor, hastily negotiating a series of black-and-white paving slabs, a pastel-painted suburbia that grew eerily dark and foreboding by nightfall; she thanked her lucky stars she hadn't worn heels. Even so, she couldn't avoid stumbling on things, fear creating insurmountable objects that rose high above her head. Every step had her heart in her mouth and her ears strained to hear footsteps behind her.

Her face was pasty beneath the harsh slits of artificial lamplight that showered the sidewalk, tears welling up at the corners of her baby blues – lashes all spiky. She felt like collapsing, but forced her shuddering body to keep moving. Right foot, left foot, and repeat.

It was easy, really.

Her side hurt and she felt sick – so very sick – and the overcast sky hung heavy about her shoulders, weighting her down so she very nearly fell and couldn't get back up again.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

The footsteps were enough to pull her upright once more, chest heaving up and down and tears slicing paths down her ivory cheeks, over the curve of her cheekbones and onto the floor in a symphony of-

_Plip. Plip. Plip._

In what seemed a short space of time that noise became louder and louder until it was laid out bare before her eyes; rain. It was raining.

Her dress began to dampen and stick to the curves of her body, clinging like icy fingers and draining away all body heat – she was sodden, hair matted and body trembling, shoes sliding messily across the wet floor. It was harder to get a good grip, head thunking against her chest – _get a grip, Naminé_.

A short gasp of pain fluttered from her mouth, anxiously grazing the sore spot with the back of her hand – when she drew it away, it was coated with blood; that too fell back to the earth in thick, fat drops of ruby-red.

Whimpering in pain, she scrambled hurriedly back to her feet, slipping in the process – her back arced, catlike, grazed hands pushing down on the floor and then, few seconds later, springing up; she started to run again, but this time it was so much harder…

Bile rose in the back of her throat, burning like acid – her eyelids fluttered like butterflies, choking back fear as she continued to slip and slide and fall to the floor, again and again…

She screamed.

Her leg twisted back up against the deadweight of her body, an awkward angle that nature would not allow for. Her nerve endings were on _fire _with pain, eyes glassy and wide with terror as the footsteps came closer and closer… They were inside her head, under her skin - _thunk, thunk, thunk - _a noise even louder than the beat of her own heart.

She tried to crawl away, legs splaying, fingers digging into the cracks of the pavement – she inched herself forwards, just barely, rainwater soaking through her clothes. She moved forwards once more, teeth biting at her lower lip and face contorted in agony – with a splash, she found herself submerged in a rather deep puddle, and her arms gave way under her. She fell forwards, head cracking against the concrete floor, and she was suddenly hit with a stunning revolution- she couldn't breathe…

"Tag," Roxas muttered in amusement, and she felt fingers delve into her hair, pulling her head back up. She winced in pain, and the blond boy sighed – this time he treated her gently, pulling her up into a sitting position. Her lungs were still on fire – she'd forgotten how to breathe – and when his steadying hands let go of her shoulders she couldn't support herself. Rather, she slumped forwards, head falling against his chest. His shirt was sodden, but she supposed that didn't matter because so was she.

"There, there," Roxas muttered, fingers fisting back in her hair again. She winced, expecting him to pull, but no such event occurred. Instead he began to plait, coiling honey locks diligently while whispering nonsense against the shell of her ear. "You should've run away – it was _stupid_. Oh so stupid… Surely you knew I'd catch you?"

She muttered something that could've meant absolutely anything, from a 'yes' to a 'no' to a 'cheesecake'. Roxas didn't seem to care, however, focused only on his hairdressing.

"Mmn. Just don't make that mistake again, okay?" he muttered, knotting the end of one plait and starting on another. "It's not like I'd hurt _you. _I was only trying to help – isn't that what friends do?"

Naminé muttered something even more unintelligible – her brain was hazy with pain and her eyes stung.

"Hey, you're shaking," Roxas continued, a small smile on his face – instinctively, he held her closer, even though such an action would only make it worse, rather than better. He was wet, too. "I'd let you borrow my jacket, but I left it Kairi's…"

The blonde girl flinched at that, memories seeping into her line of vision; Riku, and the stairs, and all that blood… All that pain… Her heart rate sped up, and Roxas noted this with mild worry – "Hey, what's wrong? You're not afraid of me, are you?"

Naminé floundered – she honestly didn't know how to answer. _Was she afraid of him? _Sure enough, she was afraid of the boy who had stuck a knife in Sora. It was normal human instinct, crazy to assume otherwise. Yet this boy… This boy acted just like Roxas would – he _wa_s Roxas – when he held her throughout all those horrible movies.

"_No…"_

"_What do you mean, 'no'?" asked Roxas in a thoroughly exasperated tone of voice, cocking his head to gauge Naminé's expression; pale, drawn and terrified. "Don't worry, it's just a film-"_

"_I said _no," _Naminé replied, firmer this time. She even drew her arms across her chest, batting Roxas away when he tried to get any closer. "I don't watch it. Not _another _one. I'll have nightmares."_

"_Don't worry," Roxas whispered, and somehow he had found his way by her side again, fingers plaiting her hair as blood splattered across the previously blank TV screen. Naminé closed her eyes and shook, so frail, so delicate…_

"I won't let anything hurt you. I promise."

But did Naminé really believe that anymore…?

"What was Riku doing to you, anyway?"

"He… I…" the blonde girl whispered, words seeming to stick in her throat; her lips felt cracked, her mouth felt dry, she was tripping and stumbling around her vocabulary in haphazard mess, slurring words like a drunk.

"What are you so afraid of?" teased the boy, poking the sides of her lips upwards into a twisted sort of smile. When he removed his fingers it wilted and died, thus prompting a small frown. "Come on, I won't bite."

_No… You'll do worse._

Naminé suddenly wished she was mute, deaf, blind – she didn't want to sit and talk about this so causally, like women over cups of tea. This wasn't the latest fashionable hairstyle and what so-and-so did last night. This was life they were talking about.

_Human _life.

"I… I killed him…" she whispered, the reality of the situation seeming so much greater when she were the one to speak the words. It was as though cementing the facts, nailing the lid on the coffin and lowering childish hope down into the ground. This was no time for hope – there was only the truth now, cold and harsh and so unforgiving. The world is unforgiving.

Even Roxas would be unforgiving.

The truth was just so ugly…

* * *

"_What're you drawing?"_

"_Things."_

"_Ha ha. Very witty."_

"_I know."_

_Riku snorted at this blatant dismissal and, instead, plonked himself down beside the blonde. She seemed to stiffen visibly, eyes narrowing and red crayon nearly snapping in two – however, she recognised this just in time and slackened her grip. Even so, she didn't want Riku around. That much was obvious by the way she inched away slightly, hair over her face, head turned._

_That girl was an enigma wrapped in mystery. Good thing that Riku _liked _mysteries, or he would've been off that bench and over to Sora in a heartbeat. Blitzball usually proved more entertaining than one-sided conversations, but…_

_But Naminé interested Riku. Far more than kicking a ball around a swimming pool, at any rate._

"_Hey, that's pretty good," Riku complimented, leaning over the girl's hunched-up shoulders in order to get a better look. It really _was_ good, too, except… "Maybe you could try smudging up that shadow a bit? It detracts from the rest of the picture."_

_Beforehand Naminé had been shying away from the boy, yet now she turned and gave him a small, rare smile. Or perhaps it had just been a nervous twitch. It had gone so quickly he couldn't be sure. Her words, however, were soft and poignant, every single syllable smooth and flowing, glazed with the sweetest of honey. That was not a voice Riku could ever hope to fabricate._

"_You like art?"_

"_It depends what sort of art you're talking about," Riku flashed her a suave grin, to which the girl turned round once more. It was hard to gauge emotions without facial features – perhaps that was what she was hoping?_

_Riku wouldn't give up just like that. _

"_Where's your little friend today?"_

"_Roxas isn't _little_," Naminé said, voice taut, seeming constricted – it was obvious she was frowning behind all that hair._

_Questions instantaneously sprang to Riku's mind, yet he was able to push them aside for something she might actually dignify with an answer – "I'm sorry, you're right. So… Do you know where he is?"_

"_Why didn't you ask Sora?"_

_Riku blinked, frowning himself now. Truth be told, he hadn't actually thought of Roxas until he had seen Naminé sat by herself. Riku wasn't friends with Roxas – hell, nobody was - and, as such, hadn't realised his absence, yet… Yet Roxas was with Naminé so often it seemed _wrong_, somehow, not to have him there with her. It was almost as if the girl was missing an arm, a leg, half her head._

_Roxas and Naminé. Naminé and Roxas._

_They were like some sort of universal set – you couldn't ever, ever have one without the other. The world just didn't _work_ like that._

"_I don't know. Forgot." Well, it was truth enough._

_A sigh, another crayon – purple, this time. "He's ill. Sick."_

"_Oh…"_

_A hesitant pause._

"_Would you like it if I stayed with you?"_

"_And why ever would you want to do that?" asked the girl, her voice sounding flippant. Something jarred within Riku at those tones, something didn't… It just didn't _flow _right. Naminé was hiding something. An enigma wrapped in a mystery._

_But Riku liked mysteries._

_And so he stayed._

* * *

"_Look, Nam, I thought we were _friends!"

"_We are friends."_

"_But you act so _distant _all the time… You never talk to me at school, or if you do it has to be in private – through notes – small glances over your shoulder – rest of the time you don't even acknowledge my existence… I'm getting _sick _of it, to be quite honest. There's something going on, isn't there? Something you're not telling me."_

"_Riku…"_

"_Don't you _dare_ 'Riku' me!" the boy cried, hands balling into fists. Silently, his mind tried to coerce him into some sort of regular breathing pattern, heart slamming against his ribcage – okay, this was all okay. Breathe in, breathe out… Didn't want the others to hear. Especially not-_

"_It's _him_, isn't it."_

_It wasn't a question, and that scared Naminé the most._

_He _knew_._

"_No, Nam – don't try to deny it," Riku sighed, holding a finger to her lips. A bid for silence. Almost everything that came from them was a lie, anyway – sugar-coated, yes, but… "It's not enough. You can't expect me to stand by you when I don't know a damned thing. I can't _believe _I hadn't figured it out earlier. It's all about _him_, isn't it? That's why you don't talk to other people. You're afraid. You're afraid of him. You're afraid of what he'll do when he finds out."_

"_He's my friend… Just a little possessive, that's all."_

"_But I'm your friend too, Nam! Better friend than _he_ is, anyway. I just… I just care about you, Naminé. I don't want him to hurt you. I can't… I… I love you so much."_

"_But I _can't_!"_

"_Please, Nami-_"

"_You don't understand_!"

"_But I thought you liked me_-"

"_Don't touch me!_"

Screams.

Tears.

And Naminé began to cry.

_Roxas wouldn't approve…_

* * *

**a.n: yay. plotness. it sure takes a long time to get around to the juicy stuff xD**


End file.
